


Flowers in a River Bed

by belownight



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 113,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belownight/pseuds/belownight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis break up. They don't know how to live without each other, and they don't actually know if they can. Because really, not having their lives revolve around one another is no better than not living at all, is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the [blind](http://blindgossip.com/?p=57505#more-57505) that Blind Gossip put up recently and then updated.  
> I obviously know nothing about the boys in real life, this is just a fiction from my imagination.

Louis took his bag and threw it over his shoulder, looking out at the house he had, until only a month ago, called home. He had lived there for almost three years, three blissfully wonderful years with his boyfriend, and now? Now he was leaving. Everything was over, everything but the tears that still ran down his face.

He wiped at them with his free hand, pulling out his phone from his bag and calling a cab. In his haste to vacate the house, he had left his car keys inside, and he knew that if he were to go back to get them, all would be forgiven. The lies, the cheating, the heartbreak.

The small bag that rested on his shoulder held only a portion of his belongings, but it was all he had managed to muster up in the small amount of time he had had. He seriously doubted he would ever come back for the rest, and it didn’t matter, anyways. Everything in there was tainted by Harry, forever a reminder of all that they had given up, and why? Because of a stupid mistake.

_Everything fucking sucks_ , Louis thought, kicking at the snow-covered ground, more and more tears replacing the ones which he had pushed away. He heard the muffled sound of a door opening, as if from a distant and better life, and all he could wish for was that his ride would hurry up.

“Please, Louis, don’t do this,” he heard a feeble voice say.

He didn’t turn around, not wanting to see the person to whom the voice belonged. He was trying so hard to be strong, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that if he looked over his shoulder and met the sad green eyes that were obviously burning into the back of his scalp.

Silence stretched over for a minute, before Harry spoke up again, this time from closer. “I made a mistake, Louis. Please, give me another chance.” Louis could hear the sobs that were mingling in with the words, could hear how desperate his boyfriend sounded.

He wanted to smile, because he wasn’t the only one who was broken up about this. But instead, he cried even harder. “Not a mistake.” It was so soft that he could barely hear it himself.

“Louis?” Once again, closer. When he didn’t get an answer, Harry let out a shaky sigh. “Louis, what did you say?” he asked, his voice pitching up several octaves on the last word. “Look at me, Louis. Please.”

And most of all surprising himself, he did. He turned around, and his eyes met up with puffy red eyes. He took a step closer to their owner, leaving barely a foot between Harry and himself. “I said, it _wasn’t_ a _mistake_. Once is a mistake, Harry. Two times is uncertainty. But three? Harry, three is a fucking choice.” He was surprised by how strong his voice had sounded, when in reality, he was minutes away from crumbling to the ground in a pool of self-pity.

He heard the crunching sound of the cab’s wheels on snow as it turned onto their street. He saw Harry’s eyes flicker towards the vehicle’s growing silhouette, fear taking over his every feature. _Louis was really leaving. It was really over. This was it._

“Please, give me another chance, Louis.”

Louis let out a dry laugh, and looked over his shoulder to his ride. Just as Harry thought he was going to step away, he was surprise that Louis moved forward, pressing his chest against his boyfriend’s. Louis’s hands tied around Harry’s neck, and his tear stained lips reached up to clash with Harry’s equally dampened ones. They kissed slowly, the cold biting into their cheeks as they stood there, not wanting to separate. But they both knew that they were treading on a rapidly decaying rope. Their time was up. This was a going away kiss, a final goodbye.

Louis untangled himself from Harry, the cab coming to a halt behind them. His hands trailed down Harry’s cheeks, finally resting above his collar bones where lay the two swallows that were dedicated to what they had. What they used to have. He lifted himself onto his toes, leaving a soft kiss one last time against his boyfriend’s lips before backing away and walking towards the cab.

With his back facing Harry, he spoke one last time. “I can’t. You’ve already had too many.” His hand wrapped around the car door’s handle, and he pulled it open, breaking off half his heart and dumping it onto the concrete street at the same time.

He stepped into the black automobile, the door slamming behind him, and he managed to give Zayn’s address to the driver before finally breaking down. Tears ran, unstoppable, down his face, his body completely wrecked by the tremors that shook it. He tried to ignore how he saw Harry fall to his knees in the middle of the dimly lit street, as if trying to pick up the broken pieces of Louis’s torn up heart. He tried to ignore how he could faintly hear his name being shouted over and over again through the glass window, gradually fading away. Most of all, he tried to ignore the unbearable pain he felt in his chest, as if someone had stabbed him in the lungs, but for some odd reason had still allowed him to live on. He couldn’t breathe, tears blocking up his throat. He wished they had at least had the decency to end his life.

However, just because he was trying to ignore these things, didn’t mean that he managed to. But at least he attempted to salvage whatever portion was left of his broken up heart.

The ride was dreadfully silent, the driver seeming to understand how Louis didn’t want to be bothered. At some point throughout the seemingly endless trip to his friend’s place, Louis had turned off his phone, incapable of listening to the constant vibration caused by Harry trying to reach him, obviously needing to talk to Louis. At some point, he stopped feeling the immense pressure on his chest, but instead fell into an equally unsupportable numbness. But the tears? They never let up, and he was starting to seriously doubt they ever would.

He eventually ended up standing on the front porch of Zayn’s flat, unsure of how he had gotten there, trembling and sobbing in the middle of the night. He didn’t even notice the dreadful cold that was overtaking his every limb, instead only concentrating on the wetness spreading over his face.

It took a good ten minutes before the door opened up to reveal a disheveled and slightly pissed Zayn, still wearing this evening’s clothes, but Louis didn’t mind the wait. His life had in reality ended a month ago, when he had for the first time learnt of Harry’s _mistake_. Now, he realised he was just living because it was what was expected of him. What could a few minutes in the cold really do to him?

Zayn let Louis in, bombarding him with questions, trying to keep his words from slurring. Louis didn’t mind, not really. He had expected it, but he still didn’t answer a single one. Well actually, he did answer one.

“How are you feeling?” Zayn had managed to get Louis to lie down on the couch and had given him a cold towel to put against his forehead, snuggling him up into multiple duvets.

“I’m not.” Those were the first words Louis had let slip from his lips in the last hour he had been in Zayn’s flat, somehow still idly living.

Zayn took it as a good sign that Louis was finally talking. “You’re not what?” He rested his fingers against his friend’s knee, his tone soft, as if talking to a hurt animal.

Louis finally met with Zayn’s eyes, and all Zayn could see was how broken Louis looked. “I’m not feeling _anything_ ,” Louis spoke flatly, his tone somewhat contradicting the tears that were still fighting their way across his cheekbones.

That was the last time Louis spoke that day.

Zayn stayed up with him until the dark outside had been replaced by muffled light, hidden behind the snow falling down and piling up at the ground. He hadn’t gotten Louis to utter another word, and had finally resolved to going to bed.

Louis felt bad for blocking Zayn out. Well, he didn’t _actually_ feel bad, but he knew that he should. So he was pretending to feel bad. Sort of the same way he was pretending to be alive.

He kicked the duvets away, not interested by their warmth in the slightest. He didn’t want them; he wanted his Harry.

***

Louis woke up, snuggled into a few layers of sheets. He looked around him, searching for Harry. What a cruel nightmare he had just had.

He switched on the light on his nightstand, immediately regretting it. This wasn’t his home.

Well it was, but he wished it weren’t. The walls were too white, the bed was too hard, but most of all, Harry wasn’t here. Harry had never even _been_ here. So technically speaking, it wasn’t his home.

It was his house, but nothing more.

He had been living here for the past two months. Well, living, as it turns out, is quite a subjective term.

He had spent the first month after his breakup with Harry alternating between each of the boys’ flats, excluding Harry’s for obvious reasons. Eventually he had found a flat that he had rented out. It was small and wasn’t in the best of conditions, and the boys had all but begged for him to look for something more suitable, but Louis wouldn’t budge. It had running water that was, as far as he knew, potable, and there was a fridge where he could keep food with the intention of eventually eating it. That was all he truly needed.

That and Harry, but that was evidently off limits to him.

Plus, he liked the small cracks that decorated the walls. They reminded him of how fragile everything was, and that even if parts of him were broken, he could still stand tall and fend for himself. Even if he still cried himself to sleep every other night, it didn’t keep him from putting on a strong front for everyone else.

This was how he woke up every morning. Before the break of dawn, and hoping that everything that had happened three months ago had been nothing but a terrible nightmare. But that wasn’t the case, now was it?

Louis threw his feet over his bed frame, feeling the cold wooden floor under his toes. _Feeling..._

He walked over to the kitchenette, opening the fridge and looking inside for the kicks of it. He was never quite hungry nowadays, but he still grabbed onto an apple, forcing himself to swallow it down before he turned his phone on.

He completely ignored the customary messages he had gotten from Harry. In all honesty, he had yet to open any of the messages he had gotten from Harry. Yes, he still saw him on a daily basis for work, and no, they didn’t hate each other, but opening his texts would be too much. They were what would allow him to know how he felt, because Harry would never let go of his pride in person. They would be the path to knowing what Harry thought of when completely piss drunk off his arse. They would allow him to see into his mind, at three in the morning when he was a sobbing mess.

And because Louis couldn’t deal with it, he decided to just ignore it. Tuning out the parts of the world that displeased him was turning out to be quite a satisfactory solution to Louis.

He skipped through his other bandmates’ worried messages and skimmed through management’s just to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything too big. He hadn’t.

He checked the time. It was still way too early. One of the boys would he coming over to check on him soon. Soon meaning in around four hours, when it would be ten.

He went over to the living room and sat down on the lumpy old couch, staring into the blank old television with his feet propped onto the old coffee table. Everything seemed old. Then again, it had been quite a while since the last time something had happened in Louis’s life.

He didn’t bother turning the tellie on, it would be as useless as burning a fire in the middle of July, in Florida. He wasn’t paying for service, so all he would get would be the frenzied storm that clogs up the screen when the reception’s bad.

He sat there staring at the screen until he finally heard the creaking of the front door opening. He didn’t check to see who it was; he knew that it was Niall. It was his turn after all.

“So how long’ve you been sitting there this time, mate?” he asked as he took a seat next to Louis. He sounded exasperated, but Louis knew better; he was sad. The boys still didn’t know everything about Harry and Louis’s breakup, they only knew that what had happened was “irreparable,” but that didn’t keep them from hoping. Hoping that it wasn’t as bad as the two boys had indirectly made it out to be. Hoping that it could be fixed.

They didn’t know that Harry had cheated on Louis; they didn’t know that it had been the _third_ time in a month, and they sure as Hell didn’t know with whom he had cheated. It was better that way.

“Couple of hours, I guess,” Louis admitted.

Niall scowled. “‘ve you eaten?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah, a bit.”

“When?” this was the routine checkup that the boys did with Louis, and hopefully Harry, every morning. He really hoped that Harry wasn’t better off than he was.

Louis shrugged. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to ten.”

“You got here early,” Louis noted. After a minute, he added, “Probably a bit less than four hours ago, to answer your question.”

Niall shook his head, taking a clear look at his friend. He looked tired, dark circles decorating his face. His cheekbones prodded out a bit, giving his face more of an angular look. His hair was flat on his hair, unstyled after what Niall could only hope to be a reasonable amount of time spent sleeping. It probably wasn’t.

“How much sleep did you get tonight, Lou?” he asked anyways, just to check.

He shrugged again. “Dunno...maybe a bit under six hours? By the way, I ate an apple, before you even ask.”

Niall didn’t bother saying anything. It was better than what Harry was eating, which usually consisted of either nothing or an orange slice just to get the boys to shut up.

“Are you ready to go?” he settled on asking.

Louis looked up at Niall, his eyes lifeless, but he quickly covered that up with a smile so fake it hurt to see. “Go where?” his tone was falsely joyful, a pretense to hide his sorrow.

“We have a shoot, didn’t you remember?” When Louis didn’t move, Niall took him by the elbow and dragged him up behind him. “Come on, Lou’ll just take care of you when we get there.”

Louis wanted to say that he didn’t care that he looked like shit, which he did. He felt like shit, too, so it worked, didn’t it? But he stayed silent as he was pulled towards Niall’s car, and he stayed silent on the way to the studio. He didn’t utter a word as he was being mollycoddled by Lou, and he didn’t protest as he was manhandled by the photographs, who were attempting to get the best shots possible. He didn’t protest when he was told to “do this” or “act like that,” and he didn’t mind that he was basically a puppet on a string. He didn’t feel capable of pretending that he was fine right now, and so pretending that he knew what he was doing during this shoot was the next best thing.

The hardest thing, though, was having to pretend that he knew what he was doing around _his Harry_. His Harry, who had turned out to not actually be his. Was he allowed to touch his shoulder? Could he smile at him? Was he allowed to talk to him? It was stupid, really, that after three years of having been best friends and eventually boyfriends, Louis didn’t know what was permitted around Harry, and what wasn’t.

This was why he tried to avoid all interaction with Harry altogether. They didn’t hate each other, but they were terrified of doing the wrong thing.

Louis had spent the last months constantly blaming himself for their breakup. Obviously, if Harry had gone looking elsewhere, Louis had been doing something wrong. And he was afraid of doing it again.

Harry, on the other hand, had seen the damage he had caused Louis, and was terrified of even upsetting him in the slightest.

And both of their reluctance towards doing anything wrong, kept them from doing anything right.

So after having stared at Harry for a good five minutes, and after having ignored the burning glare in the side of his head that Harry knew belonged to Louis, Louis turned around and looked at the camera, leaving the both of them to think that they had done something wrong. Because if they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have just turned away from each other, right?

***

_“Harry Styles, you have been ignoring my calls and messages for the past months. I had to talk to Liam in order to find out that you and Louis broke up. Now although I get that you are upset, and rightfully so, you have to call me back, I’m worried about you, okay? I love you.”_

Harry growled at his mother’s message; he had just gotten back from the photo shoot, and wished he could just be alone for once. True, he had ignored her, but only because he knew that he’d be forced to talk about Louis and him ending things, and talking about it would only make everything more official. He knew that his mum would have him tell her _why_ they had split up, and why this time it was so permanent, and he wasn’t ready to just admit to everything, so instead, he sent her a text message with the lone words _“I’m sorry.”_

Harry looked around himself, noticing for what was most likely the billionth time the emptiness of the house. Of course, it wasn’t actually empty; it was filled with papers from unpaid bills and furniture that wasn’t being used and warmth that wasn’t desired. But that wasn’t what Harry noticed when he gazed around.

The dozens of little reminders of his Louis were what really caught his eye. His key chains, which up till now remained untouched. His favourite foods, which were now moldy, but still held a prime place in the fridge. His clothes, which he was sure to find if he were to look into the drawer of the room he was no longer able to sleep in, realizing how dreadfully alone it made him feel.

He went over to the guest bedroom’s bathroom, deciding he should take a shower. His hair was beginning to get too greasy for it to be just camouflaged under hairspray or hair gel. He didn’t like showering or taking baths any more. He felt like he was trying to get Louis out of his skin, like being clean would somehow erase all the bad that he had done.

It shouldn’t.

It didn’t.

Soon enough, he ended up sitting on the guest bedroom’s bed, the same one which he had been sleeping in since the last day his heart had sustained a pulse, so long ago.

He was cold, but didn’t look into fixing that. He checked his phone, hoping to see a message from Louis, some kind of sign to confirm that he was still his.

There wasn’t any.

He could feel the tears burning up in his eyes, aching to come out, but he didn’t feel like he deserved that kind of release. So he bit onto his lower lip, trying to keep them in. He had sent Louis so many messages, ranging from _“I miss you”_ s and _“I’m sorry”_ s to _“I might as well be dead”_ s and _“This isn’t living without you, it’s hell.”_ Short and sweet was his motto when it came to Louis, but this time he didn’t know what he should do.

Of course, they had fought during their relationship, but never anything like this. It was usually because Louis would have forgotten to put the milk back into the fridge or Harry was taking too long with his hair. Never anything this terribly frightening. And never anything that would have made Louis move out. Harry was afraid that they would never fix this.

Boy, did Harry fuck it up this time.

There was a light knock on the front door, but Harry didn’t bother getting up. If it was anyone important, they would know where the spare key was.

The radio started playing; most likely some random evening alarm Louis and he had set for some odd reason once upon a lifetime ago. Harry didn’t pay attention to the song much, only noticing how the guitar’s chords made it sound like the musician was crying his soul out through the strings.

Soon enough, Harry was sobbing along with the guitarist, their sorrowful duet matching up beautifully. In reality, though, it was a trio; Louis was lying in his own cold bed across the city, listening to the same soulful song from the same radio station, silent tears tracking down his face.

Harry felt the bed plunge slightly besides him and looked up to see Liam. He didn’t say anything, only looked out in front of him, allowing Harry some time. And God knows Harry would need a lot of it.

Eventually, Harry felt Liam get up, and when he came back, he handed him his leather notebook. Without another word, he left.

The radio had been turned off. The steady rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, the clock that had been chosen out by Louis because “the colour is the same as your eyes Haz” even though “it will never manage to match their beauty” became the only reminder that Harry was still stuck in this painful punishment called life.

***

He woke up the following day feeling no more alive than he had these past few months. He was covered in tear-stained sheets, the nightmare that haunted his every night fresh in his memory.

But this time, for some unknown reason, he felt so completely overwhelmed by the events that had been playing over and over again in his mind during his sleep. He stumbled over his words, his mind a broken Rubik’s Cube puzzle that would never be solved.

“Why did you have to leave, Louis?” he quietly cried, but soon took back his words. “Why did I have to be such an arse?”

Yes, that made more sense. Louis hadn’t done anything wrong. And Harry didn’t mind texting him this fact. At this point, he didn’t expect an answer. He hadn’t gotten one during these past months, but it was comforting to know that he could still technically talk to Louis. Even if he was the only one talking. Even if no one was listening.

“I never deserved you, Louis. I love you, I love you so much,” he sobbed. “I should have given you the world; I should have made everything revolve around you. I should have been there for you. I should have understood how lucky I was to even know you.”

Harry yelled, he shouted, he swore at the world until his voice had turned raw. He pulled at his hair, he punched at the mirror in front of his bed, and he kicked at the wall until his head was a painful disaster, until his knuckles were red and bloody, until he was certain to have created an irreparable hole in the wall. He threw books, he cried his soul out, and he bit into his lip until it was swollen and bleeding.

“I hate you! I hate you so much for leaving me!” he shouted, but it was a lie. He could never hate Louis, not even in this lonely house where he was slowly destroying himself, slowly going insane.

Nothing he did managed to erase the memory of the dreadful day when Louis had left him a sobbing mess on the street’s cold pavement, the same memory that now haunted his every sleeping hour. He wished that one morning he would wake up, and it would be just that; a nightmare. If he ever got another chance, he swore that he wouldn’t mess everything up this time.

Sadly, he knew that Louis would never be stupid enough to give him just that. His Louis was smarter than that.

But he wasn’t his Louis anymore, and that made him cry even harder.

“I miss you; I miss you so Goddamn much. Please, please, I miss you Lou.” His voice was a barely present whisper, whistling between his swollen and chapped lips. Sobs were wracking his body, but he didn’t care. He needed to get this out of his system, even if he was the only one to hear his desperate cries. Especially because of this.

Tears ran silently down his face for a few minutes before he continued. “I need you, Lou, I need you so fucking much.” His speech was a slurred incoherent mess, words cracking and pitching up at random.

He kept at this for what seemed like a lifetime. It probably was too; Louis was his life. He spent his day crying, shouting. It hit him stronger than ever how little he had progressed throughout the weeks, still as despaired and pained as he had been on _that_ night, and he cried harder for that.

He didn’t care that he probably had a commitment with the band that he was breaking; he had spent the previous day pretending that his life wasn’t a horrid mess, he should be allowed to spend this one accepting the fact that it was. Management could go screw itself.

He heard shouts mingle in with his own voice at some point, late in the evening. This only encouraged him to yell even louder, trying to out-scream the foreign voices calling out his name.

He was soon held down by three pairs of hands, strapped to the ground by a force that pressed heavily against his chest. He begged the voices around him for an answer as to why Louis had left, he begged them for an easy way out, but all they were willing to offer were numerous variations of “you’ll be alright.”

Harry cursed at them for their uselessness, he cursed at them for their ignorance. _Why couldn’t anyone offer him a solution?_ When he started to feel like his body was getting heavy with sleep, he began struggling against his restraints again.

“No!” he shouted, his voice barely a gush of air. “You can’t keep me down! You can’t make me stay like this! I can’t sleep.” He couldn’t even feel the warm tears rushing down his skin, couldn’t hear the soothing words that were being uttered all around him. He couldn’t tell what he was saying anymore, he only knew that it was important. “I won’t sleep, let me go! I can’t live through that fucking day again!”

With exhaustion paralyzing his every limb, Harry was barely a challenge to hold down. He couldn’t have struggled for much more than a few minutes before his broken body gave out and he fell into a sleep haunted by _what if_ s and _if only_ s.

The boys had come straight from the studio where they had had a scheduled interview during the early afternoon, mildly annoyed at Harry’s not showing up, and half expecting to find him sitting in front of the tellie. What they hadn’t been expecting was to walk into a full-out wrestling match where Harry was his own adversary.

They stood back from his unnaturally stiff body that was lying on the ground, taking in his appearance. His entire face was completely swollen from the tears that had been falling for who knows how long. His hair was a mixture between a flattened prairie and an untidy jungle. His knuckles were an absolute disaster, the bleeding slowly letting up but not quite stopping yet. They all pondered the answer to the unspoken question lingering on all of their tongues. _How are we going to cover this one up?_

It wasn’t the first time that Harry had had an outburst, but it was definitely the first time that it had driven him to this point.

He and Louis were obviously dealing with everything in different ways. Whereas Harry was violent and loud, Louis was quiet, keeping it all bottled in and only ever letting it out when alone. They were both excessively hard to predict; one minute, they could be the definition of fake happiness, and the next, they would be stifling tears, praying to God that no one would notice.

Occasionally, other people noticed.

Most often, they did for the other.

Eventually, when all of the boys had left Harry’s place with the silent agreement that they would figure this out later, the entire place was overcome with silence.

Harry woke up to this same silence in the middle of the following day, his head pounding with a fierce headache. He tried getting up, every inch of his body an aching pain. He slowly walked to the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of tea. His throat was killing him and he didn’t even attempt to speak, knowing he would probably sound like a dying hippopotamus.

After having taken half a dozen different kinds of painkillers, Harry finally returned to the guest bedroom and took in the mess he knew he had created. The memory was blurry around the edges, but he could quite easily remember how much he had wanted to die. He still did.

The mirror had been cracked and there were faint traces of blood where the boys hadn’t managed to entirely wash it out. Various items littered the wooden floor, and he somewhat wondered about fixing the hole in the wall. Not that he really cared about it all that much.

He fell to his knees, searching for his phone amongst the chaos that had become the floor. He clumsily shoved around the random objects, his bandaged up knuckles not helping him with his quest in the slightest.

After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for, buried under a pile of clothes that had been pushed under the bed. He flipped it on, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest when he saw his messages.

Louis.

His Louis had messaged him.

He fumbled with the phone, begging for his hands to listen to him and do what he wanted of them for once.

_Lou: You sure have some fucking nerve, Styles._

His heart dropped and he was suddenly overcome by nausea, having to take a seat on the unmade bed. What had he done? It was dated from last night, but he didn’t remember anything that could have thrown Louis off. He hadn’t talked to him during the day; he hadn’t even bloody _seen_ him.

_Harry Styles: Whsat arre yoiu taalkinmg abouut?_

He cursed. His bandaged up knuckles were so swollen, it made it almost impossible for him to text. He kept hitting the wrong keys, and it had taken him five minutes to finally type out that message. He wasn’t expecting an answer soon, let alone ever, so he jumped up when he heard his phone beeping twice.

_Lou: What do you mean, what am I talking about?_

_Lou: Are you drunk?_

He sighed, half in relief, half in anger. But he wasn’t really angry at Louis. No, he was angry at the mess he had somehow made out of his life. And obviously that he would sound drunk; if he were the one on the receiving end of these messages, he wouldn’t even think twice before declaring the sender intoxicated.

_Harry Styles: Noo,. Jukst havvin g troiuble typling._

Another answer came in almost immediately.

_Lou: Wtv._

He tried wracking his mind to figure out what he had done. And it took him five minutes, but he finally had an idea. A wrong idea, he prayed.

_Harry Styles: Did I doi smtfhing laast nikght?_

_Harry Styles: Like dkid I call yiou or smnthing?_

He was really hoping he hadn’t accidentally called Louis, but as time ticked by without another answer, he figured he must be right.

After ten minutes, he knew for sure.

He had called Louis.

_Harry Styles: So sorrey Loiu._

_Harry Styles: Ddindt meakn to call u._

_Harry Styles: Dunno whickh parrt of it ui heards._

_Lou: I picked up and u were shouting bout how u didnt deserve me. Hung up after hearing u say that u hated me but needed me._

Harry took a deep breath. “Jesus Christ!” he finally shouted, but it didn’t come out as anything other than a whisper. Louis had heard him desperately crying out for him. Of course Louis had seen him at his worse when they had been dating, but it was never quite like this. The context had never been like this.

Thankfully so.

_Harry Styles: Soerry foir tath_

And then he added before he could think it through too much:

_Harry Styles: Soerry foir tath. s just reeally jhard_

He somehow wished he hadn’t just sent that when he read the answer.

_Lou: And u think this is a walk in the park for me, Harry? Ure the 1 who cheated, in case u forgot._

_Harry Styles: Im sorry Lou_

He was proud to have managed to type out an answer that was legible, even if it had taken him way too long. He stared at his phone, hoping it would come to life again. And it did, for the last time that day.

_Lou: Me too_

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm probably going to try and make this a Friday or Saturday update story!

 

Louis crossed out another day on the calendar which was hung on his fridge, held there by a pink polkadotted magnet. He really wished there were some magnetic force out there somewhere that could help him stand through the hard days. He deserved it. Then again, weren’t all days difficult to get through, recently.

He usually crossed out the days in a blue pen, “usually” meaning before Harry and he had broken up. Since then, he used a colour code.

Green was for the sad days where he didn’t particularly feel like dying; there mustn't have been over ten squares that displayed that colour since he started this system.

Yellow was for average days. The ones where he cried; where he wondered where his life had gone; where he doubted that it would go on for much longer. Those were the days that were most abundant.

Red was for terrible days. They held the silver medal for the number of times they occurred. During those days, Louis would not only feel how he did throughout the yellow days, but he would also feel lost. When he would end up alone, he would yell and kick and shout. He would sob until there wasn’t a single tear left for his body to shed, until he was so physically exhausted that he couldn’t even make it to his bed. He would crumble to the ground without being able to pick himself up. He hated those days, because they were the ones that made him realise how far from _over Harry_ he actually was. How broken he had become; a shattered man that once was.

And then there was black. Louis didn’t actually mind the black days, because he didn’t remember them. They were the times when he was so mentally caught up in everything happening that he would physically shut down. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t move. He was a dead weight being carried around by anyone and everyone around him. They were the days when his mind was in such a mess that it just closed itself off to the outside world. He wouldn’t remember anything from these days, but others did. Others hated them, because they felt like they were losing their friend; they couldn’t know for sure that he would be back. Maybe they would never see Louis again.

Yesterday had been a yellow.

Today, he didn’t know yet.

He had woken up from the same dream as he usually did a few hours ago, except that this morning, it had happened, well, not so much in the morning. Whereas he would usually wake up around four or five, today, it had been even earlier. And by “earlier,” he meant one-ish. He had tried to go back to sleep, but had only managed to become annoyed at everything. The paintings on the wall, the window, the tree that was just outside the neighbours house. But mostly, he was annoyed at his pillow, that was too hard. Or not hard enough, it didn’t really matter to him. All he knew was that it was no where near as comfortable as it would have been to have his head against Harry’s chest, warm arms holding him close and a steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep.

Now, a few minutes before sunrise, he was just about ready to go out and face the real world, with the exception of one person. He hadn’t seen Harry for the past two days, if he didn’t count the few glimpses of him he would catch out of the corner of his eye when he was at work. And even then, he would try his best to eclipse himself as to make sure he wasn’t within ten feet of Harry. Going to the bathroom was always a brilliant way to do so. If not, talking to whoever was closest to him would do.

But he wasn’t avoiding him. Not purposely anyways.

Maybe just a bit.

Louis walked through the kitchen, picking up a banana before putting it back and deciding to just have a cup of tea for breakfast. He really didn’t feel like eating. He drank it slowly, enjoying the burning it provided his throat with, feeling as if flames were slowly licking their way up, trying to gain his mouth. Consuming him.

He heard his phone chirp to life; he didn’t even need to check it to know that it would be Harry. He was the only one that would be texting him at this time without having an unhealthy amount of alcohol pouring in his veins. He didn’t want to check what he had said, not really. Not after what had happened last time, when he had accidentally answered a call and heard Harry’s meltdown. But there was a warm pull bringing him closer to his phone.

When he had finally managed to cross the distance separating him from it, he pressed the middle button, making the screen shine through the dark and empty living room. All he saw was Harry’s name before his fingers twitched, hitting the power button again. The screen went black one more, and he threw the device onto his couch. He couldn’t do it. It would be like telling Harry he was forgiven. Like giving him the unforgivable pleasure of knowing he could come back into Louis’s life, like all would be forgotten.

Louis would have gone through these past three months for nothing, and they were something he wasn’t willing to let go of. Neither was being cheated on thrice.

He slowly backed away from the phone, edging further and further from it until he was no longer able to see it. He walked to his bedroom, falling down onto the rock of a bed and wiping at the one stray tear that was rebellious enough to go against Louis’s will. He shouldn’t cry.

He was lying there for a long time before he finally got up and did something with the pathetic life he was left with.

Around lunch, there was a knock on his front door. The person, Liam again, let himself in and found Louis curled up in a ball in his living room, tears making their quiet way down his face.

Liam hugged him until there was nothing left to hug, until Louis couldn’t cry anymore.

When he asked him why he was crying, already knowing the answer, Louis had answered with a simple name, so softly that Liam had had to read his lips to understand.

“Harry.”

When he asked him what Harry had done, Louis had simply shrugged.

“I don’t know whether to think he’s being an arsehole or whether he’s being sweet,” had been his exact words.

Louis had read the message he had been sent a few hours ago. Six words, that had broken his heart to a million of irreparable pieces. Pieces that he didn’t necessarily want to repair.

_Haz: I cant live without u Lou._

And he smiled while he cried himself away, cocooned in the warmth of Liam's shoulders, because at least he wasn’t alone to be so overwhelmed by the pain. Harry was, too.

Liam had simply nodded, almost understanding, but not really. He wanted so badly to ask Louis what Harry had done to get them in this place of misery, but he knew better than to do that. If Louis or Harry had wanted to talk about it, they would have. And they would have never shut up about it. So they obviously didn’t want to let the others in on this.

Liam had left two hours later, when the sun was beginning to set. Louis had started to cry again around the same time.

That night, Louis had slept with Harry’s shirt to keep him warm. That way, he physically knew he wasn’t alone. And it was almost like he had someone to hold him.

Except it wasn't.

The following day, he woke up with salt-water smudged across his face, which he immediately wiped off. It had become a habit. Live, cry, pretend it never happened.

Three days. Three days had now gone by since the last time he had actually talked to Harry. He heard his phone ring from a recluse corner of the room. He ignored it, letting it ring for what would turn out to be the next hour. He went to the bathroom, took a shower, then got dressed and eventually left to meet up with the boys at the studio. They didn’t have anything due soon, but they just wanted to go and have fun. Or in Louis’s case, go and have fun while pretending he couldn’t see Harry.

This last part turned out to be harder than he had planned, considering how Harry wouldn’t respect the unwritten rule of “ten feet," as Louis had baptised it. No matter how far away from him Louis tried to stand, he would always feel like he was getting clustered by Harry, a newly found sentiment of claustrophobia invading his every sense. It got to the point where Louis was backed up against the furthest wall, only concentrating on keeping his breathing leveled.

He didn’t even notice the person standing next to him. “Hey Lou!” The voice was cheery.

He jumped, trying to back up further but only hitting the wall hard. Louis looked up to be met by blonde locks and blue eyes. He smiled weakly. “Hey.” He had tried to wave to his friend, but found that his hand was too heavy to even accomplish such a simple task.

“How ‘ya doin’,” Niall asked, gently wrapping his fingers around Louis’s wrist, sensing his fragility.

Louis sighed. “Good, I guess.”

“Then why are you standing so far away from us all?”

Louis blinked twice, taking in Niall's worried expression before looking around the room. And that’s when he realised how far he really was from everything outside of his head. He had been under the impression that he was being crowded up by Harry, when in reality, Harry was as far away as he could possibly be, also leaning on a wall. Why was it that Louis had been convinced that if he so much as moved a finger, he would be able to touch Harry, which would obviously be an unforgivable sin? He looked around once again. Was he going insane? That did seem to be the only reasonable explanation, didn’t it? Louis felt a shiver run through him, almost like an electric shock. He bit down on his lip, trying his best to appear calm. This couldn't be happening. Up until now, he hadn't ever considered any possible symptoms of...insanity!

Apparently, he was doing a terrible job at hiding his fear, because his worries certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Niall. Or Harry, who was, for that matter, watching the scene that was taking place before his eyes.

“Hey, Lou, don’t cry. Please.” Niall lifted his hand up, wiping at a falling tear, and smudging it along the line of Louis’s cheekbone. “What’s wrong?” His voice was filled with a concern so warm that Louis couldn’t help but try to smile. He shouldn’t be crying. He was always crying. Why was he always crying? 

“Nothing,” he tried to say, but Niall remained unimpressed. He scanned Louis’s face, not at all believing him.

“Lou.” Niall’s voice was insistent.

Louis looked up and away from his friend. He let his gaze wander around the room, eventually connecting with beautiful green eyes that he knew so well. Used to know. He shook his head once, silently telling Harry that he was fine, that he wasn’t really crying. Even when they weren’t talking, Louis felt the need to reassure Harry that he shouldn't worry. Even when he himself was the one in need of comforting.

Harry knew that Louis was as far from fine as he could possibly be, he saw it in his eyes, but he also knew that he should let this one go. Because Louis wasn’t actually telling him he shouldn’t worry. He was letting him know that he wasn’t allowed to worry. Not anymore.

Louis looked back at Niall, and didn’t even feel the tears start to fall more steadily toward the ground, gravity claiming them.

“It’s just - Niall, what if this is as good as it gets?” he very unattractively wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, biting down harder harder than he had been before on his lower lip. “Like what if this - what if this is the happiest I’ll ever be again? It’s already been over three months.” He sobbed heavily all throughout his worries, making himself excruciatingly hard to understand, and if the other boys had heard, they were decent enough not to say anything.

Niall wrapped Louis in his arms, not bothered in the least bit by the thought of getting his shirt soaked through by tears. “Louis, I can guarantee you that you will be okay again. It might not be for today, or tomorrow, or a month from now. Hell, it might not even be for a year from now,” he felt Louis shiver in his arms and he held on even tighter, “but eventually, you will be.”

Louis looked up, a sad smile gracing his features. “How can you say that, Ni? I’m a bloody mess.” Louis could sense Harry’s insistent gaze on him once again, but he ignored it.

“I know this because, when you want something, Louis, you get it. And you won’t stop until you do. You are decisively one of the most persistent people I've ever met, and I admire you so much for that. That's why I know that you’ll be okay again; not because you have to, but because you _want_ to.”

Louis almost said that what he truly wanted was to have his Harry back, to keep this whole mess from ever happening, but he didn’t. Because Niall wouldn’t be able to hear that without becoming sad. Because Harry would hear, and know. Because it was one thing to think it, but it was another to say it. So instead, he nodded, pulling away from Niall’s embrace, and trying to slowly move towards the group of people who he knew would do everything and anything for him.

He smiled along with them, and laughed when appropriate. He cringed when they started fooling around with their signing, and he hit a terribly off-key note. This was the first time that he realised that it actually physically hurt to pretend, but he kept going because it felt better than letting his feelings show through. Maybe he wasn't actually pretending to be all right for the other boys. Maybe he was pretending for himself.

Harry studied Louis. When he had walked into the room, he had looked preoccupied and worried and _broken_. He had ended up crying on Niall's shoulder, and if that had made a burning torture errupt in Harry's stomach because _that should have been him_ , well he didn't let it show through. But now, Louis seemed perfectly upbeat and charismatic.

He had his back facing Harry and was having an animated conversation with Zayn, of which Harry could only grasp a few blurred out words.

At first glance, Louis seemed perfectly fine. He seemed happy and, well, _not broken_. But Harry knew better. Louis's back was slightly hunched, his eyes darting all across the room, avoiding staying on the same point for over five seconds. His hands were knotted together, shaking imperceptibly, fingers keeping a beat on his thigh. His foot was also moving along to the rhythm, if not even a bit faster.

Louis was nervous. He was nervous, and anxious, and he wanted to go home. Or, well, he wanted to go back to his house.

And Harry wanted to go back with him.

He watched as Louis excused himself from his conversation, barely grasping the few words that allowed him to understand he was going to the bathroom.

_It's now or never_.

Harry waited a minutes before following after Louis, ignoring the various glances he was being shot by the other boys. He could vaguely make out the Louis's silhouette across the hallway, and he hastened his pace to make sure he never got out of his sight.

When he reached the bathroom, he shakily opened the door, noticing that Louis had his back turned to him once more, and hadn't yet realised that the other boy was near him.

Harry meant to wrap his fingers around Louis's hips in an attempt to make his presence known, but somehow knew that was off limits.

After all, _Louis_ was off limits.

"Hey," he shyly spoke instead.

Louis visibly tensed before turning around. 

"Hi." His tone was polite and sharp, no discernable emotion to be found, except for the slight tremor that betrayed Louis.

Now that Harry was facing Louis for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, completely alone with him, he didn't know what to say.

He gaped at air, wrecking his brain for a subject that wasn't entirely taboo to them.

Louis wasn't looking at Harry, instead, he found himself mesmerised by a piece of lint on his sweater's shoulder. He obviously wasn't about to help Harry out on this one.

And that's when Harry found his lifejacket; what he could tell Louis. "Isn't that my sweater?" he chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

Louis outstretched his arm, as if that would help him find the answer. "Maybe." It was a bit big on him, so he figured it made sense.

"You can keep it. You always used to wear it more than I did, anyways." Harry was clearly out of his element, unsure of how he was supposed to talk, to act, to _look_ at a _not-boyfriend Lou_. "I think I have a few of your garments, too... I don't know if-"

"Harry."

"Yes?" he was surprised to find that Louis was finally looking at him, even if it was with empty eyes.

"Why did you follow me here and come talk to me?"

Harry sighed, because he suddenly knew exactly why. "I texted you yesterday." He dreaded where this would bring them. Certainly nowhere good.

"And I answered." Louis's voice was dangerously tense, on the verge of cracking.

Harry laughed. "You told me I was a fucking hypocrite, Louis. I get that we're not on the best of terms right now, but don't you think that's a bit harsh?" The room had fallen deathly silent around them, making Harry feel dangerously fearful.

"If you honestly fucking think that after everything you've put me through, I was the hypocritical one, then I must say that I was severely underestimating you." As they spoke, the air had become freezing, their bodies gravitating around one another in an uncomfortable normalcy.

"It's been three months, Louis! Three shitty months, if I can say so myself."

"Harry, this is your fault! I get that you're having trouble dealing right now, but you brought this on yourself! And now, on top of having to try not to cry myself to sleep every night because _I lost everything I ever believed in_ , I'm supposed to be fucking sympathising with the dick who broke my heart?"

Harry cringed. "No, but you're sure as Hell not supposed to have been ignoring me for three months. I thought you'd have gotten over this by now."

Wrong thing to say. Too bad Harry couldn't have figured that out before the words had left his mouth.

"Oh, my bad, Harry! I didn't quite finish my copy of the _Dos and Don'ts of a Failed Relationship With Your Arsehole of a Boyfriend_. Would you mind giving me a few pointers of what I might have missed? Like after how long it isn't acceptable to still be heartbroken about what _you_ did to me?"

"I didn't mean it like that, Lou."

"Well then you'd better watch it, because in case you hadn't noticed, I'm rather pissed off right now, and I'm really not in the mood to deal with all your bullshit."

Harry took in a deep breath. "I love you, Lou."

"A bit late to figure that one out, Harry."

And with that, Louis walked out on all that he had ever wanted, with three words turning over and over again in his head, but all he could hear were lies.

You don't break someone you love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: belownight


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

 

 

Liam was the one who found Louis sitting in the middle of the hallway half an hour after he had left Harry alone in the bathroom. His feet were bare, the cuffs of his pants rolled up, and there was water spread around him. There were tears running down his cheeks, and he was completely gone. He had a faded smile on his lips, and his eyes were glassy, the same as they would usually be after he had drunk too much.

“Liam?” a small voice inquired from where Louis was sitting on the floor. His lips had barely moved, if at all.

Liam crouched down, and he would have put his arms around his friend if he didn’t known that he shouldn’t. Louis didn’t like being touched anymore. Honestly, it had been a surprise that he had let Niall hold him earlier.

“Louis?” Liam eyed his friend, and if he hadn’t known what he was looking for, he would have completely missed the tiny nod that he was given. “Oh, thank God, Lou. I thought that this was a code black or something.” He was referring to Louis’s colour code. He had actually been the one to think it up.

“This isn't a code black.” Liam sensed that Louis wasn’t done talking yet, so he waited. After five painfully long minutes, he continued. “I don't know what this is.”

Liam examined his friend, as if he would find a physical trace of a mental colour. “Can you stand up?”

“No.”

“Can you move?”

“I can speak.”

Liam shook his head. What should he do now? He crossed his legs on the floor, taking a seat on the wet floor besides Louis.

“How are you feeling?” 

Liam knew he wouldn’t get an immediate answer. This had always been an excruciatingly difficult question for Lou to answer. He took out his phone and texted the other boys to tell them he had found Louis.

They told him they were still looking for Harry.

“I don't know,” Louis spoke suddenly, his words coming out slowly. “We don't have a colour for this.”

Liam looked over the boy. His hand was twitching, but other than that, he was as immobile as a brick wall.

“Am I dead Liam?”

Liam’s eyes shot up, barely catching the cerulean blue pair in front of him. At first, he thought that Louis was looking at him, but he quickly realised that he was actually looking _through_ him. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand what was going on.

“Louis?”

“Hmm?”

Liam bit his lip. “Can you see me?” He was terrified of the answer he would get.

Louis smiled. It was an odd sight, with the tears running tracks towards the floor. “Sort of. I can see a dark figure sitting next to me. Is that you?”

“Yeah, that’s me, Lou.” It was almost comforting to know that Louis could somewhat see him, except it wasn’t really.

Louis sighed, which looked uncomfortable considering how little his chest lifted to follow his breaths. “This is a weird feeling, Li. I feel dead, but at the same time, I’ve never felt as much as I do right now.”

“Well you aren’t dead.” Liam bit his lip again, harder this time. He had never thought he would have to say that to his friend. “What do you feel?”

Louis didn't seem to be paying much attention to Liam. “It’s weird, you know? It’s like, I know I’m breathing, but I don’t know how or why that is. I know you’re there, but I can’t really see you, not actually any way.” Louis took in a deep breath. “This is the first time that I can really feel everything inside of me; all at once.”

Liam tried a different approach. “What’s inside of you, then, Lou?”

Louis’s gaze flew around, as if trying to clearly see Liam, maybe concentrate on his figure, but he ended up settling into the same blank stare which he had held before while talking. “Anger. Lots of anger, mainly. And I don’t know how to deal with it, because it isn’t a violent anger. That, I’d know how to deal with. But no, that’s not what this is. This is a white, piercing, _blinding_ fury. And I don’t know who I’m angry at, who I’m supposed to direct all of this towards. Possibly Harry, for what he did to me, the bastard.” He mumbled something under his breath, but Liam didn’t decipher anything that sounded relatively close to English. “I’m mad at me, too, though. For letting it happen. For not being good enough. I loved him, I should have been able to seen it coming, I should have been able to help. But no, I closed my eyes, and then it was too late. It was my job to do something, Li.”

Louis paused. Liam didn’t know what Louis was babbling about, not really, but that didn’t matter to him. It felt good to be able to talk to his friend.

He thought Louis would keep going, but when five minutes went by, and then ten, and all that he could hear was his own steady breathing, he decided to push on.

“What else is there? Inside of you, I mean.” His voice was soft, the words flowing out like a lullaby from between his lips.

“There’s purple.” The sentence was whispered, as if Louis had been terrified by the thought of uttering those words.

“Purple?”

He nodded.

“So you see colours?” Liam asked.

“Yeah. They all hold different emotions. Some of them even more than one.”

“So what does the purple mean?” It was hard talking to Louis like this. He looked dead, but he was still talking, still thinking. He seemed paralysed, almost.

“It’s deception, at least I think it is. In Harry; he threw everything we had away. In me, because I can’t seem to ever hate him. Why can’t I hate him, Liam? I should, I really, really should. But instead, do you know what I feel when I see him?”

Liam shook his head, unable to speak. This was the most Louis had told him about what had happened with Harry. Ever.

“I feel relief. Relief, because even though he’s no longer mine, he’s still in my life. Do you know how wrong that is? And I can’t help but feel all the love I have for him; it all comes back in a rush. I can see it now; the red. It’s a dangerous love, and it could kill me. It has killed me, actually. But still, I can’t live without it. It’s in the blood that pumps through my veins, and in order to rid my body of Harry, I’d have to bleed out until there’s no more infected blood coursing through my body; until I’m no longer infected by Harry.”

This really was the most Liam had heard Louis talking about _anything_ recently. Usually, he would manage to withhold a simple conversation about the weather, but would inevitably zone out from anything requiring a minimum of thought and concentration.

“Do you want Harry out of your system, Lou?” Liam's voice was shy, scared that he would say or ask the wrong thing and that it would pull Louis out of this state he was in. He just felt like if he managed to understand a bit better, he would be able to help Louis get through this. Whatever _this_ was.

Louis’s hand started shaking more freely against his side, the only sign of the anxiety that this subject brought him. He blinked multiple times, as if trying to clear his mind. Of what, Liam wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Louis’s breathing deepened, but Liam just sat next to him, observing him. What had happened between him and Harry?

“No,” Louis finally said, surprising both himself and Liam, who had mostly stopped expecting an answer at this point. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I _need_ Harry in my veins. He belongs there.”

“What do you mean by that?” Liam softly asked, refraining from gently pressing his hand to Louis’s forearm, like he wanted to so badly.

“With me. He belongs with me.”

Liam looked over his friend. He didn’t understand. “Then why aren’t you with him.”

All throughout this, the tears had kept their steady freefall down Louis’s cheeks, never letting up.

“Because I can’t be with him. I don’t think I could put up with knowing I had willingly forgiven him.” He laughed. “I know it doesn’t make much sense.”

Liam sighed. “What did he do to you, Lou?” he whispered, knowing Louis wouldn’t hear him, and even if he could, he would ignore him.

Liam put his hand down in the middle of the puddle around them, letting his skin soak up the humidity.

“Why is the floor wet, Lou?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Where did your shoes go, then?”

Louis’s gaze dropped to his feet, before blankly bobbing back up. “I think I took them off.”

“Where are they?” Liam felt like he was talking to a small child, not gathering any proper answers anymore, but simply broken statements.

“I don't know.”

And after that, Louis shut up, too exhausted both physically and mentally to utter another syllable.

It took Niall another full hour before finding Liam and Louis. He explained how Zayn was with Harry, a few corridors down. Harry was in tears, apparently, completely wrecked.

Liam and Niall helped Louis get up and dragged him towards where they would find Zayn. They knew it wasn’t safe for Harry to see Louis like this, so Niall stayed with Louis while Liam went and explained to Zayn that they would take him back to his flat. Zayn said that he’d try to calm Harry down, before returning him to his house.

All of this took over two hours. Two excruciatingly long hours.

When Louis had heard his front door shut close, he could finally breathe easily again. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be around anyone, but more so that he prefered being alone. He would rather be alone with himself than constantly surrounded by an aura of worry and concern and pity, overwhelmed by how hard it was to pretend that he was honestly getting through this, possibly still alive.

Earlier, when Liam had found him, he wasn’t lying; he wasn’t in code black. He knew what was going on around him, knew that the boys were out looking for Harry, but it was too exhausting to bring himself to care.

He hadn’t been lying when he had said that he felt dead; and oh how wonderful did it feel! He didn’t have to concentrate on anything, he could just let everything that had been bottled up inside of him, simmering for days like water inside of a closed pot, spill over. And he didn’t have to worry about picking it all up, because it wouldn’t matter to anyone anyways.

And so he had let every ounce of feeling overcome him, and it was a beautiful feeling. He could feel, but he couldn’t bring himself to care; he could see, but he couldn’t force his mind to make out the details of every blurry object that came into his line of vision; he could know, without having to worry about dealing with everything. It was like he was looking out at himself, witnessing the unfolding of a bound to happen event.

And so, he could feel, but couldn’t be bothered to care. _Just let it happen_.

He imagined that was what it felt like to be dead; blissfully unbothered by the happening around him, but instead solely concentrated on the unraveling emotions inside.

Louis tested his foot, seeing if he had regained control of his body yet. He had, and so he got up, unsteady on his feet like a toddler who had barely started walking. He tumbled his way over to the library he had set up in his living room; a rickety old piece of wooden furniture on the verge of crumbling, which he was still surprised managed to hold up as many books as it did.

He dragged his finger along the spine of the few books there, dust lifting off of them and clinging to the air surrounding, until he finally felt the broken leather lining of the one book he was looking for. It wasn’t actually a book; it was a small paperback notebook mostly filled with his handwriting, only a few dozen pages left untainted by ink and tears, sometimes even blood.

He pulled it out, bringing it along with him as he sat down on the floor, crosslegged and with a stiff back. He grabbed onto the black pen he always left inside the book, opening it and flipping to the first blank page that he could find. He didn’t bother rereading the last entry, knowing very well it would be about the same thing as all the previous ones, about the same person as all the ones to come.

He licked his lips, frowning before putting the pen to paper and letting unfoil all the words that remained unsaid; everything he would never be able to mention to anyone but this book. It was his best companion, always the perfect listener, always there for him, even when no one else was.

He wouldn’t remember the following hours, which were spent emptying his soul onto the page in the form of splattered ink blots and cursive letters. The only evidence that they had truly happened would be in this book.

_A hypocrite._

_That’s what you are, Harry. A hypocrite._

_I spent days and weeks trying to figure out the perfect word to describe you, and if you had asked me a year ago, I could have never admitted this. Even a few months ago, all I would have said would have been “perfect” or “wonderful” or “mine”. Now, after you’ve broken me and kicked me while I was down, I know how much of a hypocrite you are._

_I cry myself to sleep every night Harry. And yet you come and ask for me to forgive you, because you can’t do this. I have to live knowing that I wasn’t enough for the person who owned my heart. For the person who still owns my heart. You, on the other hand, weren’t pushed away, because you pushed me away. And that makes all the difference in the world. I didn’t have a word to say in what happened to us. Everything was your fault; everything still is your fault. And it breaks me that I can’t stay away, but you can’t possibly begin to imagine how hard it would be for me to be with you, knowing that I might never be good enough for you._

_When I would look at you, all I would ever be able to think of is how you’ve also looked at him that way. How when I’d touch you, I’d know there wasn’t an inch of your body that hadn’t been tainted by the feeling that his fingers, his lips, his eyes left on you._

_You can’t live without me, Harry, is what you’ve said._

_Well I’m sorry that that’s the case, but you apparently can’t seem to live with me, either. I’m sorry that you can’t seem to live only with me._

_I’ll throw you a fucking pity party, Harry._

Louis wouldn’t remember it, but this is when he started crying. The paper below him would remember it, though, by the ink dissolving into the water that was dropping onto it.

_Why did you have to do that, Harry? Why did you have to go to him? Was I doing something wrong? You could have told me that I was, you could have told me how to be better for you. How to be enough for you. I wish you would have._

_I would have learned, I swear. If you had taught me, if you had been patient enough with me, I would have learned what it was that you were missing, what it was that I wasn’t giving you._

_You didn’t even give me a chance to learn. I think I deserved that, didn’t I? A chance to learn, a chance to properly be yours?_

_What was it that I did wrong, Harry?_

_You know, I’ll always remember when you gave me the ring, when I turned 20. You told me you loved me, you told me you wanted to be with me forever, only me. You told me that I was yours, and you were mine, and that eventually, hopefully soon, we would get married._

_Now, that ring’s in a box under my bed, with all the other stuff that turned out to be lies. Your jacket, the letter you wrote me when you were drunk, our photo album. You know, I think it would have hurt less if you had never told me all those things; all those sweet lies. It would have hurt less to never have heard them, because now all I can seem to think of when I hear those things running through my mind, like they do most of the time, is how beautiful an illusion all that bullshit was._

_And how much I loved to be bullshited by you._

_Please come back to me, Harry. Come back, tell me that it never happened, tell me that you’ve never been anyone else’s but mine. Tell me that you were lying, tell me that you never wanted him, tell me anything, but tell me that it wasn’t true. I could take anything Harry, but not this._

_I love you so much._

_I hate that I love you. I hate that I don’t hate you. I hate myself._

_I deserve to be happy, Harry. I deserve to be happy with you. I want to be happy with you._

_It’s a bloody shame that you don’t think that way, too._

_I want you to love me, but everytime I hear you say that you do, all I can seem to do is wonder about when those words stopped being true. When they stopped being music to your ears, like they always have been to mine, and instead started to be a routine. When did our love die? When did I die?_

_You killed me, Harry. The minute you stopped loving me, that’s when you killed me. And yet, I’m still here, still living. So what is it that’s going to be engraved into my tombstone as my epitaph? Will it be lies, because they’ll say I’ve died of cancer or old age or of a tragic accident, when in reality I will have died of heartbreak, decades ago? Will my entire life become a web of lies? Has it already?_

_I’m not alright, Harry. I don’t know how to be alright without you. I don’t know if I want to be._

Louis sat there, slowly regaining control of his mind. He ripped the pages out of the book and stuffed them into his jacket’s pocket. He didn’t know why he did that, but it felt like it was the correct thing to do. Like they would finally make him stop loving Harry, because having a physical, tangible proof of how much Harry had hurt him would do all those impossible things.

Maybe his world would finally stop turning only on the condition that it was turning around Harry. Maybe he would finally be able, for once, to smile, and not expect to be met up by a warm smile from a green-eyed boy. Maybe he would finally be able to live for himself. Maybe he would finally want that.

Louis opened the living room’s window, allowing fresh winter air to envelop him, wallowing in the soothing cold. He looked out, not managing to decipher anything from the darkness of the night. According to his phone, it was half past three. It was half past three, and he had four messages. He saw no purpose in going to bed, already expecting his mind to wake him up in under an hour and a half. Instead, he found his way to the front door, not bothering to pull on a jacket - he enjoyed the biting frost - and walked out.

He meandered around for hours, until he finally ended up in a bar around sunrise, when the sky was starting to take on a warming yellow. There, he drank more in the course of a few hours than it should have been possible for his body to take in during an entire week, and for the first time in months, he smiled a genuine smile, because his mind was so fogged up that it didn’t matter to him that he was falling apart.

By noon, he had managed to find his way back to his flat. He had barely made it five steps in before crumbling to the ground, passed out and as dead to the world as a corpse would be. He actually looked fairly like a corpse.

His skin was a frightening ivory colour, contrasting with the intense black underlining his eyes. His lips were almost purple, the cold having discoloured his body. He should have brought himself a coat.

He spent that day lingering on the verge a drunken sleep.

***

“Lou? Are you okay?” Liam asked when he stepped into the house. There was a hollowness about the place, and he hated being here. It felt like it could drain out anyone’s energy.

He turned on the lights and nearly jumped back when he saw the crumpled mess of his friend’s figure on the carpet, bent in a way that surely mustn’t be comfortable to him. He leaned over and nearly had to pluck his nose at the strong scent of the stale alcohol that clung to Louis’s every skin pore.

Liam frowned and picked him up, finding that his friend was particularly heavy because of his unconsciousness.

“Damn it, Lou, what’d you do?” He hauled him to the bedroom in which he knew his friend had been sleeping, or more like hoped he had been sleeping in. They all knew that he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in months.

He heard Zayn’s footsteps as he entered the flat half a dozen minutes after him. “So did you find out why Louis missed the interview?” he asked.

Yes, they had had an interview scheduled today, and yes, Louis had missed it. They hadn’t quite bothered with finding him, although Harry had seemed slightly on edge because of his missing boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend. The boys didn’t really know anymore.

Liam walked out of the bedroom, finding Zayn lurking around in the kitchen.

“He’s piss drunk. Found him passed out in the doorway.”

Zayn nodded, opening the fridge door, before quickly closing it, a grimace decorating his features.

“When’s the last time he went grocery shopping? Everything in there must be weeks over due date.”

Finding Louis drunk usually happened once every week. Lately, Louis had cut down on the drinking, and although they were hoping it was because he was getting better, they all knew that it wouldn’t last.

And it didn’t. Far from that.

That week, the boys found out for the first time how truly frightening it could be to have a friend who was more often intoxicated beyond belief than he was sober.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: belownight


	4. IV

Louis would never manage to remember the following week. The furthest he would ever get would be seeing the multiplying mountains of booze bottles, images of him nursing a hangover by drinking it away, not the best idea, he would soon realise, and an unimaginable fury held towards Harry, but one that he didn’t mind entertaining.

Harry, on his side, would always perceive this week as The Fatal Week. He would see the boys hauling a pissed Louis around, he would get called into multiple endless meetings with management, urging him to “take care of the situation with your boyfriend” only to answer the only logical thing, that “he’s not my fucking boyfriend anymore.” Harry spent the week having to lie to the media about how Louis was just feeling “under the weather,” and just “going through a rough week.”       All of this he would have to do while not being allowed anywhere near Louis, meaning within five feet of him, because he was the cause of his breakdown.

And so Harry had to go about his days, pretending that he wasn’t dying inside.

Harry was still lying in bed Monday morning, the beginning of the week following The Fatal One, trying to find sleep, when there was a knock on his front door. He reluctantly got up, nowhere near actually falling asleep even after hours of lying still. He didn’t want to have to do anything this early in the day. Who in their right mind would even be willing to bother him at this time?

He pulled on a pair of jeans, not caring about having to wear something as a top. If ever the person, who was now knocking quite insistently, minded, he’d just tell them that “he has no mind for being dressed properly at four thirty in the fucking morning.”

He opened the door, his face scrunching up as he recognised the weary face of his blond friend, Niall. Behind him was a car in which Harry could vaguely make out three other silhouettes.

“What the fuck, mate?” Harry said, his words coming out more as an exasperated but resigned sigh than an annoyed growl, which he had been aiming for.

Niall rubbed at the back of his neck, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know, it’s way too early for me too. Just go put on a shirt and grab a coat, I’ll wait for you here.”

Harry however stood there a few more seconds, studying his friend’s features. There was sort of a silent acknowledgement that was exchanged between the two of them, as if they had both understood what was going on, when in reality, neither of them really knew what was going on, before Harry backed away.

He turned around; marching until he reached the living room, where he pulled on the first shirt he could lay his hands on. It was probably clean enough to be worn, especially at this time, when he was sure that it would be at least justifiable to look like complete crap.

He walked back to Niall slowly and closed the door behind them both, almost forgetting to lock it. They left the house a dark, cold, empty mess, and while walking to the car, Harry almost tripped on his feet, his shoes too large for his sleep-fuzzy mind to fully understand.

“What are we doing?” he quietly asked once he had sat into the confined space inside the vehicle, his thighs against Niall’s, who had squeezed in next to him.

Liam looked at him through the rear-view mirror. He was driving, Zayn sitting in the passenger seat next to him. “We’re re-recording that interview we had a while back, you know, the one where Louis was too pissed to show up? Well yeah, apparently it was really important for him to be there.” His voice was thick with lack of sleep, and Harry almost wondered if he was apt to drive in his tiredness, but instead he nestled into Niall’s side and decided to trust Liam.

They were soon enough driving down a dirt road, which Harry didn’t bother trying to recognize. He didn’t need to; all he had to do was make sure he would get through the day without even having gotten the few hours he would usually get. Maybe a coffee or two would help his case.

Harry looked across from him, where there was a half-sleeping Louis sprawled across two seats. He almost nudged at him to warn him about taking up too much space, considering how his feet were resting on Niall’s lap, which didn’t seem at all comfortable considering how they weren’t side by side. However, Harry then remembered that he had lost the right to do so. Instead, he settled on looking back at Liam, or, well, the back of Liam’s head.

“Is there a reason why this required our being up before dawn?” he asked, as if this was an unusual thing for him. No one commented, they all just went along with Harry pretending he had normal sleeping patterns.

Liam looked over to Zayn, who nodded briefly. Harry didn’t bother trying to figure out what that meant, as long as it wasn’t about him. And even if it were, he honestly thought that he had long passed the point of even caring.

“Figured the sooner we did it, the higher the chances of getting a sober Louis would be. Management called us up last night, yelling about how we’d better make sure he wasn’t drunk. This was the best we could think of.”

It made sense, Harry thought, although he did vaguely wonder why they hadn’t bothered to mention their plan to him.

There was a time when he would have been the one to have to deal with antsy management people, but that time seemed to be long over. Maybe it hurt him a bit. It probably did, but it didn’t matter anymore. At least, it shouldn’t matter anymore.

That’s what he would keep reminding himself all throughout the interview, and all throughout the day. It’s what went through his mind, like a record on a loop, day in, day out. It’s the thought that had been constantly occupying his mind, like a chant that wouldn’t let up. _Not yours_. _Not yours_. _Not yours_. And it bloody _hurt_ , like a punishment or a curse that had been cast upon him. How he would always be able to see Louis, but from far enough that he would be just out of his grasp.

Harry shook his head, his eyes falling back to Louis’s curled up figure. He was slowly waking up, his eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks, but never quite opening. His breathing remained slow, sort of even but hitching every other breath.

Louis rolled around, the back of his head hitting the glass window with a loud and surely painful thud, and his eyes scrunched up. He rolled in on himself even tighter, and that was it for Harry.

He didn’t quite know how he could tell, most likely from three years of caring for Louis like a mother cares for her child, but the next thing he knew, he was reaching under his seat for the emergency brown bag they kept there and unbuckling his seat belt.

He jumped across the seats right in time and sat himself down next to Louis, pushing his legs to the side as he handed him the paper bag. He helped Louis, who was now clutching his middle, sit up straight, a hand instinctively resting on his back. Harry could feel the other boys’ eyes on him and Lou, but he didn’t care. He held Louis close while he threw up into the bag he had been offered, and even if he knew it wouldn’t last long, Harry allowed himself to accept the warmth that being close to Louis procured him.

When Louis’s gagging had calmed down to dry heaves, Harry pulled himself away from the boy, his boy, if by only a few inches, and raised his eyes to meet the gaze of the two others. Liam’s eyes staying glued to the road, although his knuckles were white against the steering wheel, giving away that he knew what was going on.

They were all observing. Niall’s gaze was flittering between Harry and Louis. When Zayn’s eyes caught Liam’s, they seemed to be having one of their silent conversations.

Niall was the first of them to break the silence. “How?” he asked quietly.

Harry’s hand kept moving in a steady, soothing rhythm against Louis’s back, tracing vague circles as he spoke. “How did I know he was going to throw up?” he finished Niall’s, and everyone else’s, question. Niall nodded, his eyes falling to Louis in a worried but soft glare. “Guess being in love with someone for three year’s will do that to you.” Feeling like he had to explain, he added, “You know, make you see the little details about them that others usually overlook.” He felt Louis shudder against him when he said that, but he chose to ignore it.

Louis had now stopped dry heaving, and Harry figured he had under two minutes left to hold him before the older boy pulled away. Louis nuzzled into Harry’s warmth, somewhat surprising Harry, and surely the other boys. Harry allowed him to do so, not questioning it; he knew that Louis only wanted to be comforted and held, even if it was wrong for Harry to be the one doing so. However, Harry did notice the worried looks he was shot by the other passengers in the car.

An awkward silence was left inside the vehicle. Liam took an exit on the road, taking the curb at an alarmingly high speed, but no one seemed to be bothered by that. No one was really paying attention to the road anymore; even Liam was paying but the strict minimal attention, which consisted of just making sure they didn’t get into a wreck.

Harry was committing to memory the feeling of having Louis in his arms again. How he seemed to fit perfectly into his side, like they were two pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle. How Louis’s fingers were entangled into Harry’s shirt, like they would never let go. How their legs were curled around each other, like vines from trees. They fit together perfectly, and it was a truly fucking shame that Harry had had to go and ruin it.

“Thank you,” Louis finally said dryly as he scooted away from the person he wanted most in this world.

Harry sighed, but still nodded, as he let himself fall apart from Louis. “No problem.” They really were falling apart, weren’t they? Both on their own, but somehow connected as they crumbled into a state of misery, decaying at an alarming rate.

Harry bit his lip. He could already feel the cold air seeping in under his shirt, so he put on the jacket that had been lying in his lap. It still didn’t manage to replace Louis’s warmth. Nothing ever would, Harry had realised that the second he had let another man hold him. So why didn’t he stop there?

“Did you drink anything this morning, Lou?” The voice that had spoken was Liam’s and both Harry and Louis met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He looked saddened and worried, but most of all, he seemed tired. And this time, it wasn’t from a lack of sleep.

Louis shook his head in the negative. Harry took in how his hair followed the soft movements.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry studied Louis. Harry’s eyes had caught the heavy movement of Louis’s Adam’s apple in his throat, signaling his nervousness. His hand twitched up and pushed his fringe out of his face, his eyes catching sight of Harry’s.

Harry could tell Louis had lied. When he would be telling the truth, Louis would simply brush off a question, almost laughing it off as if it were ridicule, obvious. Now, he had seemed slightly conflicted by his answer, as if he didn’t agree with what came out of his mouth.

He was definitely lying.

Of course, none of the other boys realised that, they could only be glad enough to accept the fib that was slipping through his lips.

And he kept on lying throughout the interview, stating how happy he was and how excited he was that he and the boys finally had time to hangout, being on a break and all.

But this, Harry forgave. Because he, too, lied about how he felt on a daily.

Today, he felt “great.”

He felt “great,” because between the tears that seemed to be prisoners of his eyes, and the heaviness that constantly weighed him down, he was still somehow standing. As surprising as he found it, he wasn’t a crumpling piece of heavy rock that could easily be mistaken for a part of the ground.

How even was that?

He let himself zone out for the rest of the day, let his body carry him through it without bothering to care what happened to him.

That night, when he finally thought he could handle being a part of this world, he found himself sitting on the patio of his and Louis’s bedroom, not remembering how he had gotten there.

At first, he had no idea why he was even there, so close to the bedroom he had so carefully avoided for the past three and a half months. But as he looked up into the starless sky, he found himself praying to whoever was willing to listen that they would help him understand. Understand what he had done, why he had done it, and how he could fix it. Understand how Louis had managed to get through these endless days, because Harry knew that had he been in Louis’s place, there would have been no way that he would have managed to get up, let alone smile through an interview and pretend his world hadn’t just stopped turning.

But Louis was so strong, so much stronger than Harry would ever hope to be.

Harry toyed with the promise ring that was hung around his neck on a slim, silver chain. He had removed it from his finger, knowing that he was no longer _allowed_ to wear it there, but feeling unable to completely part with it.

He had broken his promise, but couldn’t let go.

The cold winter air was making him shiver, but he had no interest in going inside to warm up. Not without Louis there to wrap around his body, anyway. He looked up, seeing only an endless darkness, and wondered for the umpteenth time when it had all gone awry. _Why_ it had all gone awry.

They used to be so perfect for one another. Louis was still perfect for Harry, but Harry knew that he couldn’t be selfish enough to take Louis for himself. Because he had hurt him, and Louis deserved better. He deserved someone who would have never broken him in the first place.

He wiped at a stray tear that he hadn’t managed to bite back. The first of many, it would turn out to be.

“I don’t know if anyone’s listening, but I get it,” Harry said, but it came out like a whisper. His hands were knotted in his lap, and he almost smiled at how silly he would seem to an outsider. A boy wearing a t-shirt outside, barefoot in the middle of winter, and maybe praying, but not exactly. Was he praying? “I get it, I do, I really, really do. I didn’t deserve him to start with, and I screwed it all up. I shouldn’t even have had a chance to get to know him, and yet I did get one. And it was great.”

He sniffed. It truly had been great. He had been so happy with Louis, and he somehow knew that Louis had been happy with him. Through the smiles, and the laughs. Even the secrecy of their relationship hadn’t been as great a deal as it should have been in the end to them. It made it exciting when they managed to go out on a proper date. Although more often than not, they wouldn’t be allowed to go on said date, which would be frustrating.

“I get that I should let him go, but I can’t. If I let him go, it’s like I’m losing a part of myself forever. It genuinely hurts to see him near me, but so far away at the same time.” He paused, looking down at the concrete floor. “God, I’m not making any sense. Definitely reckon I’ve gone mental.” He laughed, but it was a sound that pulled his insides apart. It was a sound that was breaking the seams that were meant to be holding him together, but that were obviously doing a crap job. “Please, I don’t know what I’m asking for here, but please. Please.”

He let his head hang in his hands, and for once he willed the tears to keep flowing. It seemed that when he couldn’t function properly, the tears were there to remind him how everything kept flowing around him, and so should he. They were the part of him that he was willing to let go of, because even if they, along with anything that was remotely close to _himself_ , reminded him of Louis, they weren’t anything good. They were the parts of Louis which he had hurt, the parts of Louis which he would rather pretend he had never done any harm to.

A selfish brat, that’s what he was.

After an hour of doing _absolutely nothing productive_  but still feeling as though it had been totally worth it, he got up and walked inside, almost cursing at the welcome but still undesired warmth.

Harry had yet to remove the pictures of Louis that kept him company inside the too-big house. He would always tell the boys how he would eventually get around to it, because although they never voiced it out to him, he knew they thought it was unhealthy for him to haunt himself with the memories he had made with his Louis, but he knew he would never actually take them down. And he could see in their eyes that they didn’t believe him in the least, either. But how beautiful a carefully crafted lie could be when all a person wanted was to be properly comforted. In this case, that Harry was at least trying to get better.

In more obvious cases, that Harry was Louis’s and that Louis was Harry’s. That they weren’t dying inside.

Harry really wanted a alcohol, but instead he had settled on a glass of water. It was cold as it slid down his throat and settled into his stomach, which was a bittersweet exchange, because although it did nothing to help numb the pain or to make him forget how much of a fucking _bastard_  he had been, it didn’t warm his insides and lift his spirit like alcohol would.

He had this unfounded way of thinking, which made him feel that if he could no longer hold Louis during cold nights to make sure he was warm, and then he didn’t deserve to find a replacement to keep _himself_  warm.

 _Replacement_.

As if he could ever replace Louis.

Harry put his now empty glass down onto the coffee table in front of the sofa, in which he was curling up into. He had no recollection of having wandered to it, but that was fine. After not sleeping for over twenty four hours, he didn’t feel like his legs were up to carrying him the extra dozen steps towards the guest bedroom. As he fell asleep, his mind was playing over and over a song which he knew perfectly, one that he missed and wanted to hear more of. A song which he loved. A song which was _Louis_.

He let himself drift into a dark sleep, one that would eventually entail him further into his own darkness and swallow him up if he weren’t careful enough to ensure it was a dreamless one. If it weren’t, Harry knew that it would be one filled with memories of him and Louis in a better place, which would only ensure he woke up wishing that he hadn’t. Of course, when he hoped for a dreamless rest, he didn’t wish for the memory of _that day_ , a day which had turned everything upside down, to come surging up, but he couldn’t help that one.

Harry woke up with a start in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and with tears cascading down his cheeks. He took a few deep breaths, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“Shit,” he mumbled, getting up and refilling his water glass before going out to look for what had woken him up. Surely Management wouldn’t be making them wake up so early to complete some shit commitment another night in a row! The clock on his microwave showed that it was only a few minutes past one, there was no way they could mean to have them up this early!

He downed the liquid quickly, filling up the glass he held in his hands again. He walked around the house, trying to figure out what had woken him up, because he knew that there was no way in hell he would have managed to get up on his own.

And that’s when he heard the frantic knocking resume once again against the front door, accompanied this time by a broken sob that might potentially sound like his name. Possibly.

He trudged over to the front door, hitting every possible light switch on the way there. Maybe if he filled his flat with enough light, it wouldn’t feel like he was falling into a dark hole, slowly being robbed of all his energy.

He opened the door, entirely prepared to warn whoever the person was, most likely a stranger, that he could, and would, call the police; that it was way too early and that they should leave.

Except that it wasn’t a stranger, well not entirely.

It was Louis, smelling strongly of a toxic mix between beer and vodka, eyes fluttering, and swaying from side to side as he opened his mouth to speak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! :)  
> tumblr: belownight


	5. V

Harry let his eyes skim every feature of Louis’s face, from the stubble he had acquired on his chin since the beginning of their relationship, to his hazy blue eyes. Even the way his tongue was resting between his teeth caught his gaze.

“Can I come in?” he asked, a hint of playfulness being found in his tone, which Harry didn’t understand at all.

Harry thought long and hard about what he was saying before actually opening his mouth, careful with how he voiced his thoughts. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” he finally spoke, his words coming slow and steady from his mouth, contrasting Louis’s that were flowing jumbled and slurred.

Louis smiled and walked around Harry, into the house which he had once felt so comfortable being in. “You didn’t say no,” was his only explanation as he hung his coat, which was far too thin for the weather outside. It was a miracle he hadn’t frozen to death on his way up.

Harry followed him carefully into the living room, waiting as Louis paused at each door he crossed, peering into the darkness that laid beyond the door frame, most likely evaluating how little everything had changed since he had left. Nothing had really changed, except now Harry didn’t have the energy to care. Or more like he wished he didn’t, because there wasn’t a moment in the day were he didn’t pray to be able to undo all the wrong which he had done.

Louis finally let himself flop down into one of the couches, Harry sitting himself down in the other one, studying the giggly form of the boy in front of him. Louis was way past drunk, and Harry briefly considered he should get him a glass of water to help him sober up a bit, or at least to lessen the headache he would surely wake up to.

Louis’s hands were playing with his rolled up sleeves, toying at a hole in the fabric as he remained oblivious to Harry’s persistent gaze.

“How did you get here Lou-is?” he asked, catching himself last minute from using the nickname. “From what I’ve gathered of what the boys have told me, you live a city over.”

Louis giggled again, a true testament to how drunk he was. “I drove,” he stated, stuttering slightly on his words, but still managing to make it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry sighed, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers. Louis was far past intoxicated, to the point where he was willingly sitting across from Harry, actually talking to him _civilly_ in the house they used to share, but he claimed to have still somehow managed to drive down through the city until he reached this house. Harry cringed at the thought of what could have happened had Louis come face to face with another car.

“So why are you here, Louis?” Harry asked, aware of how exhausted he sounded, but doubting that Louis would even hear it. He was exhausted, yes, but he was also worried, because he knew from past experience that when Louis was a giggly drunk, it was because he was really, _really_ mad. Mad, and pissed, and sad, and all of the other emotions ranging in that category.

Louis sat up straighter, and Harry knew he had heard him. He looked around himself, his eyes finally finding Harry’s. He couldn’t sustain the eye contact though, and his gaze flitted to the ground, where Harry noticed how it landed on his bare ankles. He thought maybe he should bring him his slippers, the ones he used to wear when he was sick, and which he had kept stored in the closet that used to be Louis’s, but he knew he would be crossing a line if he did that.

Harry could see how Louis was growing more anxious by the minute, ignoring Harry’s question as he fisted the edge of his plain white shirt. Harry briefly let himself think that it was actually his shirt, but he didn’t mention it.

Harry couldn’t move, he was transfixed by the beautiful boy sitting in front of him. He had stopped giggling now, and his mouth was turned down into a frown, but Harry still believed he was the most beautiful boy he had ever laid eyes on. He could see the sadness and the pain that he kept hidden deep inside him clearly now, though. Louis had no tears threatening to spill, but Harry felt that that made it actually worse, because that meant that Louis didn’t even trust himself to cry in front of Harry anymore.

“You threw me away,” came Louis’s small, broken voice. “You threw me away, Harry.”

That was all it took for Louis to sound completely sober. There was no more stuttering, no more slurring, only pain, and ache, and heartbreak. Louis sounded like a four year old kid who had just learnt that his parents were divorcing, and although he wouldn’t quite understand what it meant exactly, it hurt.

“I gave you my everything, and I trusted you, and I still don’t understand,” Louis whimpered.

He was still looking at the ground, and Harry knew it was because he didn’t trust himself to look at Harry.

There was a silence, stretching over eternity and back again, and it was like a punch in the gut to Harry. They used to talk so freely between each other, and even when there were silences, they were comfortable and meant just as much as the words that were being exchanged before, if not more. But this silence was different; it wasn’t easy, it was a reminder of everything that had happened between them, and of how they didn’t quite know each other anymore.

“You know, I used to lie there, on our bed,” Louis started, pointing towards the half open door that led to their bedroom, “and I would just think of the future. Our future,” he murmured, and Harry could see how he was biting on the inside of his cheek from the way it was hollowed in. “I used to imagine how we would come out, most likely not making a big deal out of it. I could see the grin that you would be wearing when we would finally be able to hold hands in public, plastered onto your face so big I’d worry it would actually be hurting you. I could actually picture myself walking down the aisle with you. I pictured us adopting kids, a few years from now, and I just _knew_ you’d make a perfect father.” Louis’s eyes were still dry as they remained fixed on his feet, and Harry wondered if it would hurt more for Louis to be looking at him instead.

He doubted that it would, that it could possibly hurt more than it already did. He could feel his heart clenching around Louis’s words, almost trying to warn Harry that he should command it to stop beating because this was just too much to withstand.

Harry used to imagine those things, too. He used to pretend he was a middle-aged man taking care of his teenage children with Louis. His Louis, whom he would have done anything for.

Where did that all go?

“But I guess -” and this was where tears started making their way into Louis’s words. Harry could hear him choking them back, he could hear Louis fighting to breathe through them. “I guess you didn’t want all of that.”

Harry knew it was pointless to argue about this, because his actions had spoken louder than anything he could have ever said. “Louis?” he asked instead, tears clogging up his throat too.

Louis let out a wet laugh. “Oh fuck, I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

Harry let his eyes trail down from Louis’s red tinted cheeks to his mouth, which he was biting on. He followed his jaw line, going down his throat, where he could clearly make out a large vein, and fell to his collarbones. He could easily remember all the times he had traced them with his lips, darting his tongue across them, and suddenly it dawned on him how badly he had broken Louis.

He would never be able to do that again, because Louis didn’t trust him anymore. He would never again be able to see how Louis looked, flushed and exhausted, sprawled across the bed sheets besides Harry, because Louis had stopped believing in the one person who had meant the world to him. He would never get the chance to make him breakfast again, or to hear his shy laugh when Harry would compliment him on some insignificant detail that meant so incredibly much to Harry. All those moments which belonged to Harry and only Harry weren’t even his anymore.

“Louis,” he whispered, doubting that he had even been heard through the pain which was creeping into his voice.

Louis’s eyes shot up to meet with Harry’s, and Harry could definitely make out tears now, stuck in his eyelashes, making them look even darker. “No!” he shouted, startling Harry. “No, you don’t get to be sad, you don’t get to make me feel bad for you! You threw me away, without letting me say a word about how I felt!” He let his head fall to his hands, and Harry was glad for him breaking their eye contact, because it was so much worse, _so much worse_ than when he couldn’t see his blue eyes. “I waited and waited for you to tell me that it was all a prank; you know like those stupids videos you watch all the time on YouTube. I waited long and hard for you to call me up laughing and tell me that ‘I’m sorry babe, it wasn’t supposed to go this far.’ But no, you never did, and you never even explained.” The first tear finally fell from his eyes, and Harry had to physically grab onto the couch to keep himself from throwing himself at Louis, wiping away the tears and the hurt. “I thought I at least deserved an explanation, didn’t I?”

“Louis,” Harry repeated, his own tears mingling in with his voice, rasped and barely audible. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I beat myself over what I did every second of every day.”

“I don’t care how fucking sorry you are, Harry!” Louis yelled, and Harry knew that whatever drink Louis had had earlier was no longer having any affect on him. He had completely sobered up, and Harry could even see it in his eyes as he cried. “I have to sit in my flat, knowing that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“No, no babe, you were good enough, you were perfect,” Harry pleaded, the pet name slipping out, but Louis definitely caught it as his eyes flamed up.

“You don’t have the right, Harry!” he yelled.

Harry cringed. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” but it even sounded bad to his ears, because ‘sorry’ sounded like too little for what he owed Louis.

“Stop lying to me!” Louis yelled as he stood up. “I wasn’t good enough, and you’re not sorry.”

“Louis, I-”

“Shut up!” Louis said, but he was no longer yelling as he let himself fall into the couch behind him. He was sobbing, heavy, ugly sobs, his shoulders shaking with each breath intake. “Shut up, Harry, please, just stop.” His fists rubbed at his eyes, which had already turned red and puffy. “When you left, I thought that I’d eventually manage to be okay, that I’d get through this, but here I am, three and a half months after my heart was physically ripped from my chest, still barely managing to breathe and relying on a bottle of liquor to get me through the day. So I came here to understand. Because after everything that you’ve done, I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, because he knew his voice would crack if he tried to, and Louis was right. He didn’t deserve to feel sad.

“Answer me,” Louis calmly demanded.

Harry swallowed around the thick knot his his throat. “Yes.”

“How did you go from wanting to marry me, to cheating on me?” he asked, and if it weren’t for how Harry had seen his lips moving, he wouldn’t have believed it had been Louis who had spoken.

Harry looked away, staring out at the still sky from the window besides him, and as he spoke, he tried to make it look like he was speaking to the stars, instead of speaking to Louis, because it made it seem better to him. He wouldn’t have to see the pained expression marring his love’s face.

“I’ve always wanted to marry you Louis, I think from the day I met you when I was sixteen, and I’m pretty sure I’ll always want to marry you. And when you actually proposed, I said yes, but fuck, Louis, I’m nineteen. I’m nineteen, and I can’t even be seen in public with my _boyfriend_ , but you bought me this bloody perfect ring, and I loved how it looked on my finger. But I wasn’t even allowed to wear it, and I couldn’t even show it off to anyone, not even the boys.”

Harry took in a deep breath, thinking back to that wonderful day when Louis had gotten down on one knee, and he wiped his sleeve under his nose, trying so hard not to cry.

“I don’t remember what management told us to make us realise that we absolutely couldn’t tell anyone, but it had made sense at the time, I know that.”

Louis sniffed, and Harry couldn’t bear to look at him, so he kept his eyes fixed on the window. “I proposed to you with a speech that I’ll always remember, but I guess you missed some of those sentences.  I had said, ‘I love you, and even if no one can know, and no one will know of this, I want to marry you Harry. I know that we won’t be allowed to tell anyone, but this is my best way of promising you that I am yours, and that you are mine. I’m giving it all I’ve got here.’”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t miss any of what you said, Louis. It’s all engraved in my mind, and I won’t ever forget any of it. But it physically hurt that I couldn’t show anyone how much I loved you. And I knew I couldn’t talk about it with you, because you were so happy, and I was so happy that you were happy.”

He took a break, letting it spread out until the silence reached Louis, and after a long while of no one speaking, Harry met Louis’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I have to go,” Louis spoke hastily, and Harry knew what he had done wrong. He had gotten to the part of the story which Louis knew.

“Please, Louis, you have to know how sorry I am.”

Tears were cascading down Louis’s cheeks as he got up, and Harry mirrored his actions. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Harry. The minute you decided to sleep with him, I stopped mattering. _We_ stopped mattering. Because ‘we’ turned into ‘you, me, and him.’”

Harry bit his lip. “I went to him, and at first we just talked, and I told him about what was going on, about our engagement and all, because bloody hell, I couldn’t just _not_ tell anyone. And we drank, and we got drunk, and somewhere along the line, ‘I love Louis so much’ turned into kisses, and I can’t even remember everything that happened.” Harry could see the broken on Louis’s face, and he could see him shattering slowly, but he had to know what had happened. “All I know is that I woke up, and I felt so fucking disgusting, Louis.”

Louis looked away. “I’m not going to tell you that you aren’t, if that’s what you’re expecting of me.”

Harry reached for Louis’s hand, needing to feel him near him, but Louis pulled away. “I know I am, Louis, I can feel it in my skin every second of the day. All I can see when I look into a mirror is how utterly _disgusting_ I look.”

“But you still went back two other times.” It’s a fact, and Harry can hear Louis building up the façades he had had up before he had entered this house. His voice was definitely cold now, and Harry couldn’t bear thinking that it was his fault. Everything was his fault.

Harry nodded. “I don’t even remember why, all I can think of is how drunk I was.”

“I don’t care that you were drunk, Harry!” Louis aggressively whispered. “It’s not an excuse, and it sure as hell doesn’t make me feel better about this.”

“I know, but I was just so overwhelmed, and I didn’t know how to deal, and you were out with Eleanor that day, the second time I mean, and I just didn’t know what to think. And now tomorrow you have to go out again with her, and back then I couldn’t bare knowing that you two were together while we were engaged and I couldn’t kiss you but she could, and I couldn’t call you my fiancé in public, but management were talking about planning an engagement with her, and I just felt so helpless Louis. It’s like, I could see you with her, everyone could see you with her, all the time in public, outside, even in our own fucking home sometimes. But I couldn’t ever be seen with you, and I couldn’t do anything about it except smile and pretend there wasn’t this fucking pressure on my heart because _you weren’t even mine_!”

“I thought we had been over this, Harry!” Louis shouted, because that wasn’t a good enough reason. “I hated it too, but she meant nothing to me. Hell, she still doesn’t mean anything, because you’re the one who owns my fucking heart, always have from the day we met. And I’m still here, waiting like the bloody idiot I am, for you to either mend it or give it back, knowing fully well that you won’t do shit. Even if you tried to, I think that it would be impossible to repair this, because I can’t imagine myself as being whole anymore.”

Harry broke down crying, and he knew he shouldn’t, he knew it wasn’t his right to cry, but goddamn it, Louis was standing in front of him, showing him just how fucked up Harry had made everything out to be, and he knew quite well that it would be nearly impossible to pick up all the pieces, but he would try. He didn’t care if he had to leave an arm at it, or even his life, but he would try.

“And what about the third time?” Louis asked, trying to keep his voice steady to counter the tears that were still disappearing into the shadows that outlined his cheeks.

Harry shook his head. He was standing next to Louis, slightly taller, but he felt so infinitely smaller. “I don’t even remember. All I know is that I woke up bare with a hangover that lasted for days. I was groggy for the following week, living off of painkillers. I could barely look at you, because I knew we would be done the second you found out.”

Louis looked away. “And how long did you wait before telling me?” He bit his lip, and Harry knew that he wouldn’t like his answer. Well honestly, there was no right answer to this.

“Three days, I think.” There was no doubt in his mind, though.

Louis sighed, turning his back to Harry.

Harry would have never expected what happened next.

He watched as Louis’s hands clenched into fists, and he started pounding the wall as hard as he could. Harry watched as blood started to split Louis’s skin, covering it, and the walls, in a red paint. He starred as Louis started kicking at the wall until there was a large enough hole to fit a football in it, and there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that he would have a few broken toes in the morning, but he didn’t stop him, because he was barely managing to retain himself from joining in.

Soon enough, Louis started throwing things, and Harry didn’t even flinch when some of them came flying towards him. In the following hour, all the plates had been thrown to the ground, covering it in porcelain shatters, which mixed in beautifully with the flower vases that Louis moved onto afterwards, when there were no more dishes in the cupboards. Everything that could possibly break was broken in the following hour. Every swear word that existed was uttered multiple times, each time in different tones, and when Louis turned around to Harry and feebly started pounding his battered fists against Harry’s chest, Harry didn’t even blink, because he deserved everything that Louis had done.

After all, he had only made the place where Harry’s body lived look like the place where his mind and heart were trapped.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pulled out of school for the day so I got to update now instead of when I got back :) I hope you like it, and let me know what you think!  
> tumblr: belownight


	6. VI

When Louis got back at his house at half past noon the following day - having thanked the Lord more times than he could possibly count for making sure Harry hadn’t been up yet when he had left - it took him all of five minutes to find the couch and sank down into it. He could still feel yesterday’s tear tracks, which had dried up and were still on his cheeks, but it was now being joined by the fresh set of wetness that now painted his face.

He had stayed over at Harry’s - _unwillingly_ \- and his back was now sore from having slept on the floor there, but as he thought of crooked position on his couch, he just couldn’t find the energy to care.

He was broken. He truly felt like there was a part of him, a large Harry shaped hole in his heart, and mind, and body, that was missing; stolen from him in a once upon a time fairy-tale. Louis could feel his body going numb as he silently cried. Well, it wasn’t exactly crying; there were tears running down his face, but no other physical evidence of any emotion whatsoever. He wasn’t shaking with the tremors that would be overcoming him, he wasn’t whimpering; he was simply letting the long overdue tears run their course.

When he got up again, it was now far into the evening, and as Louis looked outside, he couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. This was all bullshit.

All of it.

And he couldn’t deal with any of it anymore.

Before, he had always thought that there were a few, very limited number of facts that would remain forever true.

The Earth revolved around the sun, just like the moon revolved around the Earth.

Louis’s life was entirely his to live, and no one else’s.

The sun would always shine through the sky for as long as he lived.

And Harry would always be his to keep.

But now that he thought about it, really thought about it, his life had slowly become everyone else’s to command and direct as they pleased. Everything that he said or did was an intricate part of a prewritten script that was being handed to him by management in order to please the fans. The only time he had any actual choice was when he was cooped up in his flat, away from the millions of prying eyes that seemed to have a permanent and very intent fix on him.

As for his sun, well it had long since flickered out, no longer bringing light to his days as it was supposed to. He had actually realized that although he had, until not too long ago, thought that the sun was the star that sat in the sky, moving gradually along its arc around the horizon line, it really wasn’t. His sun was in reality a bright-eyed boy with a large smile, a person who had been stolen from him, wrongly so. Everyone had their own sun, which would always vastly outshine the one in the sky.

And when it came to Harry, it was fairly easy to say that he hadn’t been his in a long time.

So what should make him so sure that the Earth would always follow its orbit around the Sun, if he had managed to disprove all the other facts that had for a long time oriented his life? His scepticism was well-justified.

He had to get away. Louis had to escape, to someplace where his life might make more sense to him, because right now, everything that he had ever believed to be true was all turning out to be lies. He didn’t know what, or who, to turn to anymore, because nothing made sense. If the things he had always valued, which had been taught to him by the people he idolized most - his mum, a third grade teacher, and even Harry - had all been but a series of well-crafted letdowns, then how was it even possible for him to believe it when he was told that “it would get better”?

He had to leave. If he didn’t, it was only a matter of time before he drove himself to insanity.

He slowly walked towards his bedroom, pulling out a suitcase from the back of his closet, not allowing himself to think of how it had once been his and Harry’s suitcase. He started to stuff it with a few random items; his toothbrush, a wall adapter, a pair of socks which he hadn’t worn since his seventeenth birthday.

He kept flipping through everything he could lay his hand on, not even bothering to check what exactly he was filling his suitcase up with, until he heard a faint thud coming through the door to the living room, sounding vaguely like a falling object.

He got up from where he was crunched over, making his way through to where he knew the noise had come from, scanning the area with his eyes. The place was a mess, but Louis could still make out what was his mess from what wasn’t supposed to be.

Was Harry his mess?

Should he have tried to pick him up? Pick them up?

He finally managed to spot a fallen book from his bookshelf. He got closer, and as the small object became clearer in his eyes, he realized that it wasn’t a book. It was a photo album.

He opened it up, not recognizing it, and his eyes bulged out of his skull when a letter fell into his lap. He let his eyes skim over it, immediately recognizing it as being in Harry’s handwriting.

He read it over once, twice, forwards, backwards. He read it until his eyes were tired and his hands were shaking. He read through it for minutes, and when those minutes turned into an hour, he didn’t stop. He flipped it over, trying to read through the lines, and when he couldn’t, he just started analyzing the words instead.

It was dated from a few days before their breakup, before Louis had learnt of everything. Before his world had come crumbling to the ground.

It was a heartbreakingly beautiful letter, like the first flowers of spring after a too long winter. Louis just didn’t know how to feel about it, so instead he decided to forget how he should be reacting, and concentrated solely on what this meant.

_My love,_

_I really, really hope that when you read this, you’re not crying._

_I obviously don’t know when you’ll actually find this. I don’t know when it would be best for you to. Maybe it’s going to be in a few days, or weeks, but even if it’s in a few years, whether we’re still talking or not, I need you to not throw this away as soon as you lay your hands on it. The fact that you’ve actually gotten this far into it could probably be taken as a good sign._

_As I’m writing this down, I have less than no idea how we’re going to be in a few days. Most likely fighting, but I can’t tell anything more. I know you so well, Louis, but this is just something which is uncharted territory to us. Yes, we fight every now and then, obviously, but not about things like this. Never about anything that could tear us apart like this._

_I’m fully aware that if we’ve broken up, an apology is going to be near meaningless to you. I trust that if on some off chance you’ve decided to forgive me, I will have done everything that’s in my power in order to try and make this up to you. But still, I’m sorry. I’ve screwed up, royally, really, and I’ve no clue on how to fix this._

_I can’t begin to imagine how you’ll be feeling about this. I know that this will hurt, that you’ll hurt. Hell, it already hurts me, and I know you well enough to be able to guess that you won’t take it easily, but trust me when I say that I wish I could feel it instead of you. You don’t deserve this, Lou. You deserve flowers and chocolates, the sun and the moon, everything and even more, but not this._

_Anything but this._

_So, because I don’t know how we’ll be in a few days, let alone weeks or years, I’m taking this time to tell you that you were the best part of my life, and you always will be. Every second I spent with you was a gift to me, and I wouldn’t return it for the world. If for some reason I have the chance to live even just another second of my life in your company, I promise, I won’t take it for granted. I never did._

_I truly believe that you were it for me; you still are and forever will be. I could be eighty and lying on my death bed that you would still be my everything. You were the best part of me, Lou. That’s partly why I made you this._

_I want you to remember how we were, every moment that we had together. Whether we were dating, or fighting, or in that awkward phase of “just friends”. I want you to be able to look back at us and think that it was worth it. That we were worth it._

_Because I certainly think we were._

_I love you, Lou. You’re my everything._

_Your Harry_

_xx_

When Louis finally came to the realization that there was no more left for him to read, no hidden sentences, nothing on which he hadn’t yet let his eyes linger, he put the letter safely to his side, picking the photo album up again. As he flipped through the pages, realizing it was shot after shot of Harry and him - smiling, laughing, kissing - spread out through the past years, he could feel the tears welling up.

This had been the best time of his life, he just knew it. He’d never be that happy again.

It wasn’t fair for it to be gone.

There wasn’t a picture where he didn’t remember exactly what had been going on at the exact moment it had been taken. He could recall everything from every picture, every little insignificant detail, and it felt like picking at an already open scab for him to be looking through this, just letting more dirt in.

He could feel his insides crumbling as he took in how exactly everything had affected him, and then realizing that being with Harry hadn’t actually changed him at all. It had allowed him to be himself for once, exactly who he was, because for the first time in his life he hadn’t been bloody terrified of how he would be perceived. And it had been wonderful.

Maybe even a bit too much; because now, he had to go, he had to leave.

But if Harry was his sun, his ray of light, even if he had dimmed out for him, what could assure Louis that he wasn’t just hidden behind a cloud, waiting for a wind current strong enough to let him pierce through again? If he were to run away, to hide, to disappear from the Earth, wouldn’t he just be running away from his sun, trying to find something that would replace it? And yes, maybe he would eventually find something, like a light bulb, that could shine on Louis once again, but it wouldn’t be eternal. Every light source eventually burns out, all except the sun. The light bulb would end up breaking, and what would happen then? Would Louis just keep running? And how should he even hide from the sun?

He felt caught up; if he ran, and that was imagining that he would be able to keep running forever, he knew he would simply end up wilting away, like a flower missing its sun. However, if he didn’t hide, if he let Harry get close enough to him, then he would end up burnt. Louis didn’t think he would manage to heal both burn wounds and a broken heart.

He sat up straighter on the hardwood floor, crossing his legs under him.

He couldn’t run. The fans would find him, or management would find him, or the boys would find him; it didn’t matter who, really, but the point was that he would be found.

He checked his watch. Time was slowly edging towards eight, and he was supposed to have met up with Eleanor half an hour ago. The drive wasn’t too long, and the sun, the actual star the hung in the sky, to not be confused with his sun, Harry, had long disappeared behind the horizon line. All which was now left was a simple halo of light, and that wouldn’t be too bad for his hangover. He knew Eleanor well enough to understand that she hadn’t called him out for not having shown up, but he was fully aware that if there were no new pictures of the two of them out by tomorrow morning, management would figure it out.

He slowly got up, coming to his senses for the first time in the entire day. He couldn’t run, not now anyways.

He made his way to his bedroom, finding his phone and his jacket before pulling both on and leaving, his plans neither entirely defeated nor completed.

Louis ended up at the restaurant where he would surely find Eleanor without any recollection of the drive there, only remembering that he would need to stop for gas on the way back. He half-heartedly scanned the place once he had been let in, spotting the girl at the back, near the windows.

He made his way through to her, keeping his head hung low as to not attract too much attention. He slid into the seat in front of her, and offered her a weak smile in return for the one she was giving him. He opened up the menu, really hoping that this “date” wouldn’t be too much of a pain, considering how he would much rather be hollowed up in his house than be out in public, where everyone could see the dark circles that clung to the skin under his eyes.

“Hey,” she shyly said, reaching across the table to lightly grab his hand. “How are you?”

He looked up at her briefly, sending her another smile before looking back down.

She sighed, letting it go. She had known about the breakup a few weeks after it had happened, management not exactly leaving Louis with a choice about telling her. Of course she had been extremely sweet and understanding, and it was probably one of the main reasons why she wasn’t asking Louis about his being roughly forty-five minutes late, but he couldn’t help still feeling a bit bitter about his telling her. It had been painfully hard and he had wanted for nothing more than to be able to play her a recording of what he needed to say. Obviously he hadn’t been able to do that. Plus, it wasn’t like it directly affected her, anyway.

The waiter came around, smiling at the two of them and asking for what they wanted to drink. Louis had let Eleanor go first, not entirely surprised when she only asked for water, before finally speaking up for himself.

“Do you serve vodka?” he asked, not missing the completely baffled looks both Eleanor and the waiter shot him. He didn’t often drink when he was with her, and if he did, it would usually be a beer.

The waiter looked at his notepad. “I’m not sure, but I could always try and get you one.”

Louis nodded, dismissing the waiter.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We could always cancel,” Eleanor suggested.

Louis laughed, a fake, rough sound, which seemed foreign to him. “That’s really nice of you and all, but you know just as well as I do that we can’t cancel.”

She looked at Louis, trying to figure out what she should reply with. She didn’t find anything appropriate, so she simply looked down at her fingers wrapped around Louis’s.

This would be a long night, for the two of them.

***

“Harry, I know that you don’t want to do this, but can you please just try and clean up your kitchen? How is it even possible that you haven’t cut your feet on all the glass there?” Zayn asked, walking towards Harry after having thrown out some of the biggest pieces of broken plates from the floor.

Harry smirked up at him, sort of half-drunk but not quite enough for his liking. The worst part was that he hadn’t even had that much to drink. Zayn had force-fed him a bottle of beer, because when he had arrived, Harry was a sobbing mess, and if his house was to be any indicator, he had been crying the entire day. It was messy and dark inside, the curtains still drawn out all around them. There was a distinct scent of stuffiness hanging around, and Zayn really did seem to actually be quite annoyed with Harry. Not that the latter mind in the least.

Harry kicked his feet up onto Zayn’s lap, smiling smugly at him.

“Okay, mate, I get that you like had a drink, but there is _no way_ in Hell that you’re actually drunk,” he quietly said, not bothering to move Harry’s feet off of him.

Harry giggled. “Not proper drunk, no.” He was even slurring his words! “But it’s fun to pretend. Won’t get a hangover either, so that’s pretty dope.”

“Well you’re doing a bang up job at it.”

Harry laughed. In all honesty, his mind was far from as fuzzy as he would have liked it to be, but with one band member already spending most of his free time drunk, Harry doubted the boys would enjoy having to deal with another one.

If he were to be completely honest with himself, he’d have to admit that pretending to be wasted was a lot more work than what it was worth. Not only did he have to slur his words and drag them out longer than he usually would, but he had to literally force his brain to ignore Louis, all the while still feeling him everywhere around. It was like his presence was clinging to every piece of fabric - the curtains, the sofas, even the Goddamn walls - and it was so terribly and wonderfully overwhelming.

“Haz?” Zayn asked tentatively, pulling him out of his short-lived reverie.

Harry’s only response was an absent-minded hum, and for all it was worth, he would admit that he was pretty good at this pretend-drunk thing. At least he didn’t have to deal with the worried glances that he would otherwise have the honour of receiving, and oh how those looks always seemed to be endless.

Zayn let his hand rest softly on Harry’s ankle, eyes studying him as if he were a ready-to-pounce wild animal instead of a heartbroken man. Was he even allowed to be heartbroken?

“You know that the boys and I are here for you, right?” he spoke softly, voice calm and even.

The tone Zayn was using had always terrified Harry, but he didn’t let it shine through his reply. He was drunk, after all. “Oh yeah, ‘course. Like that time when I thought I’d run over an animal or summat, came to you lot first!” he laughed.

Zayn smiled sadly. Harry knew that he wasn’t buying this drunk-crap in the least, but it was nice to know he was pretending, for Harry’s sake.

They sat there, talking about fake road kill, prank calls they had made ages ago and other seemingly random subjects, the television working as background noise to their very interesting discussion.

Zayn listened attentively to his entirely sober friend as he rambled about something quite enthusiastically, Harry himself not quite knowing what that something was. They could hear the wind roughly hitting up against the windows, but it was more of a soothing sound than it was a frightening one, so they didn’t mind.

At some point throughout the one-man show Harry was putting on, for whom, he wasn’t quite sure, he just cut off mid-sentence, not quite bothered by the fact that Zayn had clearly zoned out. Really, Harry had too.

They watched whatever it was that was playing on the screen in front of them until it was well past midnight, and just when Harry would have been willing to bet that Zayn was falling asleep, the latter spoke up.

“Harry?”

Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off of the dancers on the telly.

“Can I ask you something?”

There was something in Zayn’s voice that forced Harry to turn around and meet him in the eyes, suddenly feeling himself start to worry.

“It’s just - oh God, I really don’t wanna come off as a dick here. But like, you and Lou broke up -”

Harry shook his head, cutting Zayn off. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Please, Harry, I’m begging you. You broke up and we don’t even know what happened. Neither of you will tell us! And we’re trying here, we really are, but do you even know how hard it is to heal a wound without even knowing where it is or what caused it? We constantly feel like we’re doing the wrong thing, like we’re only making the matter worse.” His voice was pleading, taking on a desperate edge as he talked rapidly, trying not to trip on his words too much.

Harry looked back towards the television, the girls no longer dancing, but now talking. The volume was too low for him to make out anything other than a low mumble, but it was still better than trying to explain how _it was his entire fault_ to the people who had entrusted him with the happiness of their friend.

He knew that Zayn would never push him for an answer, but he was aware that he had to say _something_. The boys did deserve some kind of explanation.

He sighed, keeping his face straight. “We were engaged,” he whispered.

He knew Zayn had heard him by the way his hand stopped twirling the edges of his pants around. Harry looked up, meeting Zayn’s gaze.

“What?” Zayn asked, at a clear loss of breath.

Harry nodded, pulling out the chain he wore permanently around his neck, acknowledging for the first time the ring next to the promise ring.

Zayn took the chain from Harry’s clenched hands carefully. “The first one is the promise ring you gave him, right?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“So the other one is your engagement ring?”

“Yes.”

Zayn gaped at Harry for a few seconds. This was obviously news to him.

“You were engaged?” he finally asked, clearly baffled.

“Yes,” Harry answered sadly. He wasn’t sad that they had been engaged; he was sad that they no longer were, not really anyways.

Zayn lifted the ring up closer to his eyes, taking in the exquisite but simple detail of it. It was beautiful.

He smiled sadly at Harry. “So who proposed?”

“Louis.” Harry really seemed to be enjoying his one-worded replies. It didn’t demand too much of his attention to come up with them, which was truly marvelous.

There was a silence as Zayn had obviously expected Harry to elaborate, which wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

“I’m surprised you kept the ring,” Zayn finally noted, dropping the chain back into Harry’s hands.

Harry turned around, looking at Zayn. “Why?”

Zayn shrugged, trying to play off the fact that he _really_ shouldn’t have said that. “Usually when people call an engagement off, they return the rings.

Harry swallowed thickly. “It - it was never called off. Not officially anyways.” He could feel the tears begging him to be released. “He just...left.”

“Then how can you know for sure you two are broken up?” Zayn asked, trying to see a flaw in Harry and Louis’s logic. “For all you know, maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe he’s sitting in his flat, thinking you must be pissed at him for not having tried hard enough, while you’re just here crying your days away because he just left.”

Harry laughed. “That’s a whole lot of maybes, Zayn.” He didn’t bother correcting Zayn for saying that Harry was crying his days away. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he let the seconds tick by. “Trust me, it was pretty explicit.”

Zayn nodded. He opened his mouth to try and get more information out of his friend, but when he looked at Harry, he knew that he wouldn’t be getting anything more. And Harry was glad for Zayn’s understanding of that, because he didn’t think he would physically be capable of delving some more into those memories.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! xx  
> tumblr: belownight


	7. VII

Louis walked into Zayn’s flat a few minutes late, doing his best not to look tipsy. By the way the other boys sighed; he was definitely not doing the best job. They were all spread across the sofa, tangled up and seemingly talking. The conversation between the three already present had stopped as soon as Louis had entered, and all their eyes were now glued to him. He made his way to the couch as steadily as he could, starting to regret having had a beer with breakfast. Or maybe it had been a beer _for_ breakfast, he couldn’t quite remember.

“Hey Lou, how are you?” Liam’s timid voice spoke up. Ever since Louis had spilt his heart out to him, back when he felt so broken he couldn’t function, Liam had sort of taken to talking to him like he would a damaged animal. Not that Louis wasn’t still broken, but he was trying to hide it better.

Although some would argue that nursing a bottle of liquor wasn’t the most subtle way of doing that.

At least it was a distraction from what was actually going on in his life, right? That’s what Louis thought, anyways.

Louis nodded, dropping down into Niall’s side. “I’m fine.” His voice was monotone, a smile countering the disinterest he was obviously displaying. He let his head rest against the top of the couch, feeling the room sway slightly around him.

“Harry’s going to be here any minute,” Niall informed him.

Louis laughed, opening an eye to look at his bandmate. He received a worried glare from him. “I really couldn’t care less that he isn’t here yet, mate.”

He could imagine the other three boys exchanging glances, trying to figure out what was going on. Louis had never been like this, not with Harry. With everyone else, he would always get to a point where he would be annoyed, but with Harry, he would usually care, no matter how bad things were getting. He would never have outright denied _Harry_ , not before, anyways.

“You sure you’re okay, Lou?” Zayn asked cautiously.

But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? He was _fine_ , but that didn’t mean that he was okay.

_Fine_ meant that he was terribly _not_ okay, nowhere near okay; but it shut people up, because they didn’t want to push it. When people would say they were fine, it meant, “I’m as far away from ‘okay’ as I could be, but I _don’t want to talk about it_.” And that’s what Louis wanted, to keep people out. Fine was definitely the best way to do so, because, with all the shit everyone goes through on a daily, if Louis claimed to be fine, no one would try and get it out of him that he actually wasn’t.

Whereas _okay_ meant that he was either working towards being better or that perhaps he even was better. It signified that he was coping in a healthy way, but that others shouldn’t push it, because then he would go back to being _fine_.

Although he would argue that he _was_ coping in a healthy way, Louis knew it was a lie.

He giggled, loudly and freely, hands clenching at his stomach. He sat up straighter, trying to catch his breath. When he did, which took a rather long time, he pressed his hand onto Niall’s shoulder, still smiling. “Never said I was okay, did I.” His piercing blue eyes were cold, warning Zayn not to push it. He really wished he didn’t actually have to be like this with his best friends.

When he felt like Zayn had gotten the message, he got up, swaying a few seconds before finding his footing, and going to grab a bottle of water in the kitchen. He would have gone for alcohol, but he seriously doubted his friends would allow that. He could hear them talking, vague mumbling making its way up to his ears. Louis shrugged it off, not really caring that he wasn’t being included into whatever conversation they were having.

He stayed in the kitchen, alone, for a few more minutes, enjoying the little time he had to himself. He had grown quite used to having only his person around. After all the hardships he had had to go through to get to the point where being alone no longer bothered, he wasn’t quite ready to give it up, not yet anyways.

As he finally made his way back from the kitchen, his hiding spot, there were certain words from the other three’s conversation that would manage to capture his attention. Words such as “Harry and Lou” and “engagement” and of course “called off.” He sped his step, which seemed to be rather harder than he would have liked to admit, considering how he was tipsy.

He walked into the living room’s doorway, feeling unnaturally dizzy, and not just from the alcohol pouring through his vein. He stood, stunned, as he listened to Zayn speaking. “Yeah, Haz said that. Something about how they were engaged, but that it’s unofficially been called off.”

“Unofficially?” Liam asked. His hand was rubbing at the slight stubble covering his under chin.

Zayn nodded. “Said it was sorta just obvious. He really seemed heartbroken about it though, so I don’t get why it was called off. Neither one of them are able to cope alone, honestly. I mean, Harry’s just forgetting to eat every other day, and Louis’s drinking his kidneys away. That much is pretty clear.”

Niall nodded, thinking about what he was going to say. “Did Harry do anything? For them to break up I mean...”

“Not that he mentioned. I don’t think he would, though, doesn’t seem much like him.” Zayn shrugged.

Louis had to bite his lip from yelling. Did that mean that the boys thought that he seemed more likely to have broken Harry’s heart?

Liam shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Did Louis do anything, then?”

Louis had to lean against the wall, overwhelmed by everything. Tears were starting to prick his eyes, and he wanted so badly to shout at Liam, tell him that he didn’t do _anything_ , but he needed to know what Zayn would answer.

He probably should have just yelled right off the bat.

“I don’t know.”

This time, Louis sniffed, making his presence known to the other boys. “Oh what, so like Harry gets a ‘He doesn’t seem like the type who would,’ and for me it’s ‘I don’t know’?” His voice was shaking, and he was doing his absolute best not to cry, but once again, his best just wasn’t enough. “You really fucking think I would have done something so bad that it could call off a fucking engagement?” He let his eyes trail on every one of the boys seated in front of him, gauging their reaction. Even though they didn’t say anything, their eyes conveyed all. The actually thought Louis would do something like that, whatever _that_ was.

A long silence stretched out between them, and Niall was the first who was brave enough to break it. “So you actually were engaged, then?” Niall prodded.

Louis blinked away a few tears, fully aware that they would simply return with full force later. “Yes, fucking hell. The fucking dick wasn’t even supposed to tell you, shit!” The fucking dick being Harry, obviously. And maybe the dick he had fucked with.

Harry conveniently seemed to have chosen this precise moment to walk through the front door, letting out a loud greeting to the tense room.

He made his way through the hallway leading to the boys, halting his step when he caught sight of Louis. Louis, who had tears in his eyes, which were puffy and red from trying so hard to keep them from shedding. Louis, who was shooting him daggers like he couldn’t ever imagine having been in love with this idiot. Louis, who was still in love with said idiot.

“What did I just walk in on?” Harry asked, his eyes glued to Louis, who really seemed like he would know what to do if he were to be handed a knife.

Louis walked towards the sofa, sitting down next to Niall, kicking his legs out onto the coffee table. Zayn shot him a hard look, but didn’t say anything.

Harry looked at Liam, hoping for some kind of clue as to what was going on, before sitting down on the floor at his feet. He had no idea why, but he felt like he was walking on really thin ice.

Louis was now purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“So why didn’t you two tell us?” Liam asked, steering the conversation back to the engagement as he looked intently at Louis.

Louis’s jaw clenched and he spoke through tight teeth. “We weren’t allowed to. Now drop it.” He was already starting to get a headache, and he really didn’t want to talk about him and Harry having been together, especially when actually in front of Harry.

Zayn took the television remote, turning it on and flipping through the channels. This was a very unsubtle attempt at dissipating some of the tension between the boys, which Louis was very thankful for. That was, until Harry spoke up again.

“Liam, what weren’t we allowed to tell you?” His tone was measured, unsure of what to expect.

Louis really wanted to strangle him at the moment. He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant Harry or Liam by that. “That we were fucking engaged,” he answered instead, his whole body having gone stiff.

“Oh.”

Louis scoffed. “Yeah, ‘oh.’” Venom was thick, coating his voice. “They wanted to know why we called it off.”

Harry looked at Louis, eyes wide open, and Louis could actually _feel_ his fear.

“Feel like telling them, Haz?” The nickname was like a shot of poison, hurting Harry like only Louis could. He deserved it.

Harry looked at the ground.

“Because right now, they think this is _my fault_.” Louis largely emphasized the last two words, his tone falsely sweet. “How ironic is that? Don’t you think that’s ironic, Harry?”

Harry pulled his knees to his chest, speaking slowly, with his eyes studying Louis’s. “It’s not your fault.”

“Trust me, I know.” A tear slid down his cheek, and he raised his hand to dry it off. “Could never forget, right?” His tone was back to being pleasant, although mostly sad. He smiled, looking over at the other boys.

This was a moment where he would give anything to have alcohol pumping through his veins, to have it take the pain away. Would he be able to ever not feel like this around Harry?

He sighed, turning away from looking at Harry. His head was pounding, and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but he couldn’t do that right now, obviously. He had to stay here with the boys, and act normal.

“Why did you want us to meet here?” Louis asked, trying to steer the conversation to safe grounds. That was turning out to be quite harder to do than he had planned, because he wasn’t quite sure what was safe anymore.

“What?” Zayn asked, falsely innocent. “Can’t all five of us hang out together anymore?”

Harry shook his head, shaking his hair out a bit before pushing it back again. “It’s just that we don’t do that much anymore, not since, you know.” Louis could tell it would pain him to actually mention the breakup. Good.

He could see Harry’s hands shaking slightly; he was clearly nervous. He was afraid of how close to Louis he was, and although the feeling was mutual, there was something comforting about knowing he still had that effect on him.

Louis got up, bending over Niall to reach the telly remote Zayn had kept well tucked into his side. He sat back down, aiming the remote at the screen in front of him, flipping through the channels. He could hear the others talking all around him, feeling himself basking in their meaningless words. Although he was tuning out the meaning of what they were saying, he could hear their soft voices, as if carried through the end of a landline sitting on a table. Low mumbles were the only thing making their way to Louis, a string of gentle sound without sense or direction.

He spread his legs over Niall’s lap, feeling the soothing hand that was left to rest against his ankles. Louis closed his eyes, tilting his head back a bit and breathing in deeply. He sunk further into the sofa, his breathing evening out as he tried to fall asleep. He knew Harry was staring at him out of the corner of his eyes, Louis could feel him burning a hole into the side of his head.

He never fell asleep, but it was nice just relaxing. He still could hear the others talking, but it was as if from a faraway world. He could make out all of their voices, except for Harry, who seemed to be remaining quiet as well.

That was okay.

An hour passed before Louis started really feeling uneasy.

Harry’s burning gaze had only grown stronger, and Louis was having a hard time not turning around and looking back at Harry. He shuffled around in his spot on the couch, nudging Niall at the same time. He tried to turn away from Harry, nuzzle his nose against the cushion fabric in a way that he wouldn’t be facing him.

It worked, but only for a few minutes. After that, he could feel his back itching with Harry’s eyes, something impossible to scratch.

He tried switching positions as to fit into Niall’s side, hiding behind him, but this only seemed to make Harry look at him even more intensely, which he hadn’t even thought would be possible to begin with.

Louis groaned, shifting around a bit more before finally standing up. Niall looked at him questioningly, making him mumble out a hastened “bathroom”. He walked away, finding the bathroom rather easily and locking himself in it.

He could hear their voices carried to him under the door. He wanted to shut them out, wanted to ignore that there were other people here. He wished he could have alcohol.

He sank down on his side of the bathroom door, trying to calm his breathing.

It had been a bad idea to come over, he had known it the minute he had accepted to show up, but now it was too late. Now, he was within breathing distance of Harry, and that was utterly driving him mad. It was like being allowed a shot of his drug; just enough to keep him on edge, but nowhere close to how much he would need in order to appease his ache.

He knew Harry had been observing him, gauging how well Louis was coping. Honestly, he could just ask, Louis wouldn’t mind letting him know that he was actually doing shit, contrary to popular belief. Or maybe not so far away from what everyone thought. Louis didn’t really know what the consensus was about him nowadays. It seemed though that it was easier for Harry to just look, very un-subtly so, and establish his own judgement.

Louis’s short nails tried to dig into the floor, and when they couldn’t, his hands clenched up, nails instead biting into the skin there. He held his breath for as long as he could, and when he could feel his throat starting to burn from lack of oxygen, he let out all the air which had been filling his lungs, relief flooding through him. His hands fell loose at his side, blood having nearly been drawn to the surface. Louis started this process over and over again for dozens of minutes, until he could eventually feel himself begin to calm down.

His pulse, which had been fluttering, a rapid and uneven thumping through his veins, had finally returned to normal. He let his eyes open, cringing at the sudden brightness within the room. He stumbled to his feet, not quite as tipsy as he had been before, but not at all sobered up.

He opened the door, taking his time to return to the living room. The closer he got to Harry, the more he felt himself grow uneasy.

He couldn’t do this.

He had to leave.

He crossed into the room, taking in how the other boys were all still deep in conversation. Of what Louis understood, it was a fairly light conversation, and he didn’t think they would miss him too much. Considering how much he had been providing to the discussion, he was actually sure of it.

When they turned to him, he smiled.

“We thought you might have passed out in there, you were gone a long time,” one of them joked.

He tried to laugh, but failing miserably. He had made it sound like a cross between a pained walrus and a noisy duck. So really, it didn’t sound like anything human, much less a convincing laugh.

He shook his head at them, rearranging his fringe. “Yeah.” He swayed from foot to foot, knotting his hands together behind his back. “Look, I think I’m going to head out, catch an early night, you know?” He shrugged, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t completely terrified of staying. Which he wasn’t, no. Not at all. He would just prefer not having to face Harry, was all.

He could see Zayn hesitating, his mouth opening to most likely ask him if he would be okay, or even if he was okay. Half a second later, his mouth closed again, and he shot Louis a tight-lipped smile, nodding at him.

He turned around, really hoping to make his way quickly to the door, but was stopped by Liam’s small voice. “Are you planning to drink tonight, Lou?” He seemed genuinely terrified of the answer, and Louis didn’t want to give one to him, so he froze up.

If he said that he was planning to do that, then the boys would be disappointed; if he said that hadn’t been what he had been planning on doing, then they wouldn’t believe him. So he just started up walking again, not addressing the question. He pulled his coat off of the rack, putting it on at the same time he walked out the house. He was suddenly hit by the cold winter air, smiling in the wind.

The sun had barely just set, and he looked at the darkening sky for a few seconds before making his way to his car. The snow was quickly melting, allowing him to walk through muddy grounds, cursing with every step that he took.

He jammed the key into the car door, fumbling with it, before dropping it to the ground.

Shit.

His fingers were heavy, and he felt clumsy as he looked at the fallen key at his feet.

“Louis!”

Double shit.

Harry had just come out of the house, making his way toward Louis. The latter quickly bent down, reaching for the key and hastily wiping it off on his sleeve before trying to open the car door again. This time he actually managed to, but the second he tried to pull the handle, Harry was blocking him.

“I know you’re mad.” It wasn’t a question, Harry was certain that Louis was mad. Louis could tell from his stance, and how close he was leaning in to Louis.

Louis laughed bitterly, averting his eyes from Harry’s. “Well, you’re blocking my car, and Liam clearly doesn’t trust me enough to spend a day sober.”

“So he shouldn’t be worried?” Harry asked skeptically, biting at his tongue.

“No.” Louis had meant for it to sound determined, but it came out as a question. Bloody Hell.

Harry leaned further against the car, backing up slightly from Louis. “Tell me you weren’t just going to get completely smashed at yours.”

Louis leaned next to him, pushing his back up against the metal door of the car. “I was actually planning on going to a pub.” This wasn’t so hard, talking to Harry, now was it?

He sat down on the ground, his pants becoming completely soaked through the second they came into contact with the snow. Harry took a seat next to him, keeping a respectable distance between them. “Funny.” He lightly rubbed at Louis’s knee, pulling away quickly. “That’s not what I was talking about though.”

Louis met Harry’s eyes, smile fading. He looked down at his crossed legs, pulling on his lip with two fingers. “No, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Well we sort of have to, Louis.”

“Not now,” Louis pleaded.

Harry shifted a bit. “Then tell me when?” His voice was desperate.

Louis got to his feet. “Never. I don’t want to talk about it. The end.” He stressed each word, taking a step away from Harry.

Harry also stood up; closing the distance Louis had just created. “You’re mad and I want to talk about it.”

“I’m not mad!” he yelled. So maybe he was mad. Harry didn’t need to know that.

“Oh really?” Harry ironically questioned, not an ounce of seriousness in his tone.

Louis sighed, looking away into the completely deserted road.

“So you’re not pissed about how I told Zayn of our engagement?” He pushed. “And you’re not angry that he thought it was your fault?” Louis clenched his hands. “You’re not annoyed that I didn’t tell them enough?”

Louis took a few deep breaths before turning to face Harry, fury clear in his eyes. “You fucking dick, Harry! Of course I’m pissed! You want me to be angry? Fine!” He walked towards Harry, pushing him up against the car roughly. “You fucking told them we had broken up, that we had called off an engagement _they didn’t even know about in the first place_! And you made yourself look like a broken puppy while you were at it, obviously making me into the villain.”

Harry tried leaning a bit away from Louis, only to be pushed harder against the car.

“You broke my fucking heart, and then made yourself into the victim!” He yelled. “The Hell I’m pissed! They all think we broke up because I was a dick, when in reality, what happened was that you sucked _another_ dick! And kept at it, too!”

“Well how in the world am I even supposed to make ‘I cheated on the only guy I ever loved’ sound a bit less harsh? Find me a way, and I’ll tell them!” Harry answered.

Louis laughed. “You can’t make it sound _good_. That’s the thing, Harry! It’s not something good; you can’t make believe it was! Like breaking my heart was beneficial to us! Do you know how shitty that would be towards me? As if completely breaking me wasn’t enough, now you want to make yourself not seem as horrible as you actually are. That’s bullshit, Harry!”

“It broke my heart too, you know.”

Louis looked away. “Yeah, isn’t that just the thing? _You_ broke _your_ heart, and then you broke mine. Fucking ace, Haz.” He cringed at the nickname, not having wanted for it to slip. He shook his head, hand still maintaining Harry steadily against the car.

He could feel Harry’s steady gaze scanning his features. Louis wasn’t terrified by this; he was terrified because he couldn’t read Harry’s expression. He couldn’t figure out what it was that was going through his mind, and he felt entirely vulnerable like this, like an open book.

He pushed his leg between Harry’s, pinning his hip against his in a way that restrained all movement. He could see the taller lad’s arms tensing against the metal door; could actually feel them, too. They were so close, it was almost wonderful.

“I don’t understand this,” Harry murmured, breath tickling at Louis’s cheek. They were really close, _too_ close, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “You keep ignoring me, but sometimes you just stop. And in those instants, I get to see the real you, and I don’t know what to think. I can’t stand that you’re ignoring me, but I understand it. I love when you let me in, and actually acknowledge my existence, but I don’t get it. I don’t get how I should ask, or what I should ask, really.”

Louis shivered as Harry’s hands started soothing up and down his arms, not meeting his eyes.

“You’re the one calling the shots here, Louis. Tell me what to do, please.” He let his hand run up to Louis’s cheek. “I’m begging you here.”

Louis looked at the ground, feeling his cheeks heat up, and when he looked back up, Harry was less than an inch away from him. He should have pulled away, he knew it, but he didn’t. He could blame it on a lot of things: the alcohol that was still coursing through his veins, how cold he was standing out here, even the confusion he had felt all day. But in reality, he just didn’t want to pull away. He hadn’t been this close to Harry since the night they had broken up, and he just bloody missed it.

He let his fingers travel up to Harry’s hair, twirling a strand of hair between his forefinger and thumb. He finally looked up into Harry’s green eyes, and felt all the air in his lungs being stolen away. He saw himself bend into Harry’s figure, lips lightly brushing his, tentatively at first. He stayed immobile as Harry started to move, unsure of whether or not this was right.

It definitely wasn’t.

He stood there, Harry’s hands pulling him in by the waist, thumbs digging into his hipbone. He couldn’t move, just taking in how Harry’s lips felt rough against his own. He felt Harry’s tongue dart across his bottom lip, and that’s when he snapped back to himself. More or less. He opened his mouth, swallowing Harry’s tongue into his mouth, twirling his own tongue around Harry’s. So much time had gone by since the last time they had properly kissed, and even though every instinct in his body warned him to run away, there was a kind of warmth that he shared with Harry which overrode that.

He leaned in against Harry, their lips moving in sync as Louis moaned into his mouth, feeling Harry’s hands wandering from his hips to his lower back, kneading shapeless forms into his skin. He tried to squeeze himself closer between Harry’s legs, arms traveling up his torso.

“I love you,” Harry whispered into his mouth, making Louis tense up.

Harry detached their lips, trailing his to Louis’s jawline, his tongue darting out to dampen the skin there. His teeth slightly grazed down across the skin, soon enough, although dangerously slowly too, reaching Louis’s collarbone, his sweater pushed aside to reveal the smooth skin. He sucked at the skin there until Louis was back to being melted in his arms, a bruise soon to be appearing.

Louis tangled his fingers into Harry’s hair, pulling him back up to kiss his mouth again. Harry sighed into the kiss, giving Louis the perfect opportunity to let his tongue into his mouth. Harry’s right hand had lowered to Louis’s bum, holding him steadily closer, pressing them against each other.

Harry smiled against Louis’s lips. “I love you,” he repeated, and this time, Louis didn’t tense up. He barely even paused.

“Shut up, you idiot,” he replied into his mouth, feeling Harry slightly rub his teeth against his tongue, making him moan loudly this time.

They had somehow made their way to the front of the car, Harry sitting down on the edge of the hood, pulling Louis against him. Louis willingly straddled Harry’s lap, pulling away to lick a long stripe down Harry’s neck. Harry tilted his head back, welcoming Louis to come closer, as he let his hands rest just above Louis’s hipbones once again.

Louis looked up, gauging Harry’s heat-coloured face, his eyes closed as he let everything happen. Louis shuffled a bit in Harry’s lap, eliciting a moan from him, and leaned down. His hand teased at Harry’s right nipple through his shirt, Harry rearranging himself under him.

Louis bent back down, back arched as he stole away a light kiss from Harry’s lips, smiling into it.

He had missed this.

He put his hands on either side of Harry’s chest, caging him in against the car. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’s neck, fingers tickling at Louis’s soft skin, making him whimper as he dipped down once again. Their lips met again, this time a clean contact, in a simple closed-mouth kiss.

Louis finally pulled away, far too quickly for his liking, and looked down into Harry’s hopeful eyes. As they stared into each other, understanding the other like no one else ever would, Louis realised what he had just done.

He had just kissed Harry, whom he was broken up with. Harry who had made him mad and broken-hearted. He had just given hope to him that all was not over, and even if he wished this could be the case, it hurt too much. He could already feel the clenching of his heart within his chest, certain that Harry could as well because of their close proximity.

Louis was suddenly pulling away, eyes frightened and breath short. He stumbled back, tripping over the sidewalk and landing on his backside, completely shocked. He had to calm his breathing down, trying and failing to regain a seemingly-normal composure.

Harry jumped up from the car, crouching down beside Louis, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Lou, are you okay?” he asked, laying a hand down on his shoulder.

Louis shrank away from the contact, suddenly feeling small against the concrete beneath him. He crawled away from Harry, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, before wrapping in on himself.

He looked up, meeting Harry’s terrified gaze, still shaking heavily as he held his legs close to his chest. He shouldn’t have done this, should have known better.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried out, and was thankful when he noticed how Harry didn’t try to breach the few feet between them, instead lingering near the car. “I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t have just done that.” Louis’s voice cracked, his eyes shut tight. He shook his head, backing up a bit more. This couldn’t actually be happening.

He could feel Harry wondering whether he should come closer or not, and prayed that he would stay where he was. Louis bit down on his lip until he could taste the metallic-flavoured blood. He held himself together until he was sure he was no longer going to fall apart. He kept himself still until he knew he would be able to move without crumbling to the ground.

He opened his eyes, meeting Harry’s green ones from across the distance that was separating them. “I shouldn’t have done that,” Louis spoke up monotonously.

Harry swayed from one foot to the other, suddenly shrinking back down to a toddler who feared he had done something wrong.

Louis closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t have let me do that. You should have stopped me.”

Harry’s breath hitched. “What?” he asked severely. Louis knew that if he were to look at Harry, his eyes would be thin slits, narrowed accusingly.

“You knew better, Harry,” Louis explained.

He heard Harry rush towards him, pulling his chin up and forcefully joining their lips again. Louis wanted to pull away, but instead he found himself melting into the embrace. Just as suddenly as Harry’s mouth had molded to Louis’s, he was pulling away.

Louis opened his eyes, his confused irises meeting with Harry’s furious ones. “You don’t get to blame what just happened on me, Louis. You kissed me back; you _wanted_ it just as much as I did. You _cannot_ fucking blame this one on me!” he harshly responded through gritted teeth.

Louis was mesmerised beneath Harry, unsure of how to respond.

“There are a lot of things you can blame me for in your life, Louis, but this? This isn’t one of them,” Harry continued, shooting Louis one last look before turning around, walking back towards Zayn’s flat. “See you later, Louis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, I hope you like it and that I didn't screw it up too much! :)


	8. VIII

Louis didn’t know what to do anymore.

Usually, in life, there were choices, and paths to follow. Even if he never really knew where each road would lead him, at least he knew there was something predestined for him. He knew that nothing he did ever was entirely his choice. Although he got to choose the path he would embark on, he didn’t get to decide on where it would lead him; he could solely follow the pebbles laid out for him.

With Harry, though, he felt like he was always offered millions of possibilities. Right, left, top, bottom; and yet he always managed to carefully avoid each of the “safe paths”. It was like he was being guided towards the best road, but he was still headed straight for the forest.

And he always ended up getting lost. With or without Harry.

He looked around, vaguely making out the ramp as he sat completely sober on the patio, wrapped up in one of his coats. It was well past midnight, a starless night staring down from above him. He trailed his fingers across his bottom lip, where he could still feel the tingling sensation left by Harry’s lips.

God did he miss those lips.

He missed them so much.

But he didn’t want to miss them anymore. Didn’t want to have to, anymore.

At first, he had tried to replace them with the rim of a beer bottle, the numbness it provided replicating the butterflies he would usually get in his stomach. But now, that didn’t work anymore.

He sat up straighter against the wall, the joint dangling dangerously between his lips and tipping over slightly. He didn’t smoke often, so he figured it would be okay tonight. He let his breath drag out smoke the way he could remember having done once when he had been respectably drunk, a few months ago. It still burned at the back of his throat, but for once, he enjoyed. It made him feel something, and that was beautiful to him. He still coughed a bit, though, turning it into laughter towards the end.

Some guy Louis didn’t know was walking down the streets, yelling out the lyrics to a song which were so jumbled up, it was impossible to understand or recognise the tune. Louis got up and leaned across the railing, looking down and spotting the guy in question.

There was a girl following him closely, and they were both clearly plastered. Louis wished he could be drunk right now.

He remembered when he and Harry used to get drunk together. It seemed like such a long time ago; now they were always running. Whether it was away from each other or towards each other, Louis would never know.

All he knew was that he didn’t want to have to run anymore.

He pulled his phone out of his trousers, flipping it on and opening his texts. He didn’t care that it was late; he wanted to talk to Harry.

_Louis Tomlinson: I miss u_

Now that wasn’t what he had intended to send off, but he giggled as he hit the send button, not really caring. It was still something that could get the conversation going, so really, there was no harm done.

He let himself sink down next to the rail, still laughing as he brought the joint back up to his lips.

His phone beeped a few minutes later. The corners of his mouth lifted up into a smile as he recognised Harry’s name across the screen, and he made haste of unlocking his phone.

_Haz: Are u okay?_

_Louis Tomlinson: I miss u_

He looked away, quite proud of his witty answer. Or maybe he wasn’t all that proud, but it didn’t really matter to him anymore. He was talking to Harry, sort of, and that was what counted, even if he might not be gaining any points for originality with his last text.

He opened up Harry’s contact name, pressing the call button before he could change his mind. It rang once, twice, and a third time before being sent off to voicemail. Louis tried again, and again, and again, before letting out an indignant huff.

His joint was now half done, and he really didn’t want to get up to fetch himself the glass of water he was aching for right now. He tried calling Harry once more, reaching voicemail before he could even hear the first ring. He furiously opened the texting app back up, and fumbled with the keyboard.

_Louis Tomlinson: I just wanna talk_

He let himself lay down across the cold concrete floor, spreading his limbs out until he was comfortably settled in a star-shaped position.

Haz: Ure drunk. We’ll talk when u can think straight

Louis laughed. For once, his being sober would be useful to him. He really didn’t want to be sober, though.

Louis Tomlinson: Not drunk

Louis let his head rock backwards, letting out a long, smoke-filled breath towards the sky. The weather was warming up quickly recently. The snow was melting at a fast pace, and Louis couldn’t exactly say he was saddened by this. After all, he hadn’t needed to wear gloves today, and that was a big step forwards in his book.

He held his phone tight in his left hand until he felt it start to vibrate, and quickly managed to answer. He knew he was breathless, his pants filling in the void left by Harry’s silence.

Harry let Louis catch his breath before speaking up. “Hey.”

Louis nodded, flicking the joint in his hand, feeling a small piece of ash fall into his palm. He blew it away, not realising he was blowing into the phone’s speaker at the same time and that it would make an unpleasant rustling noise for Harry. “Sorry for that. Hi.” Louis folded his legs up. “I just - I needed to talk.”

Harry sighed. “I’m here.” And he was. But Louis didn’t know where to start. There was so much on his mind, and so little words to allow him to actually speak his mind. After five minutes of wracking his brain and not coming up with anything, he was glad that Harry decided to say something. “You know, it’s the middle of the night, and we’re not saying anything, but I don’t mind. I’m just glad to know that you care enough to try talking to me. That’s crazy, innit?” He laughed, and the sound of it made Louis’s chest constrict.

“Harry?”

He hummed.

“You’re not crazy,” Louis whispered. He put the joint between his lips, sucking in a breath and letting the smoke pour out from his lips. He kept his breathing steady for a few more seconds before pulling the joint away from his lips and into his fingers. Louis could hear Harry’s heavy breathing on the other end. “We kissed, didn’t we? Earlier today, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

Louis shook his head, pushing his fringe away when it fell into his eyes. “I don’t know why this bothers me so much, it’s not like it’s the first time anyways.” He laughed. “I think it’s just how I know I’m not the only one who’s kissed your mouth this time.”

Louis was glad Harry didn’t correct him, that he didn’t remind him how he hadn’t been his first kiss. He didn’t want to think of that. Not right now at least. Possibly not ever.

He inhaled his smoke, breathing it out slowly. This was proving to be having a calming effect on Louis. It was relaxing. He let out a short-lived laugh, not finding anything in particular humorous. That’s what he told Harry when he was asked why he was laughing.

Harry let him live it out, not pressing the matter in order to get any clarifications as to what Louis had wanted to talk about.

“Are you outside?” Louis asked.

“No, I’m in my room actually. Why?”

“There are literally no stars out. I’ve never seen a night quite this dark before. It’s sort of beautiful.” Louis could hear shuffling from the other end, and he guessed that Harry was getting up to check.

All Louis could hear for a few seconds after that was Harry’s even breathing, than a door opening and there was suddenly a gust of wind that was blown into the phone. Louis heard Harry’s breathing stop briefly, and Louis figured that he was looking up. Then followed a sigh. “This really is beautiful, Lou.”

Louis didn’t bother correcting Harry for the use of his nickname. He, too, looked up at the sky, taking in the unbelievable darkness above him. There was something about it that appealed to him, almost like it was a black hole, like it could drain away every possible negative thought he’d ever had, or ever would have.

But it also felt like he could finally let himself drown in it, drown in himself.

He spread his legs out again, putting the joint between his lips and taking a long drag of it. “You know what the worst thing is?” he asked, smoke spilling from his mouth with each syllable.

“What?” Harry asked softly. Louis knew he could sense they were getting closer to the important part of the conversation, slowly but steadily drifting away from small talk.

Louis closed his eyes. “That’s how I feel, all the time. The sky I mean. It’s so dark; I feel it’s pulling me closer, like it would drown me in it if it could.” He paused, almost for effect. “I don’t think I would mind, honestly.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“You know, because it’s like I’m drowning in the darkness. Like I’m being wrapped up in this beautifully terrifying comforter, and I’m not entirely against that.” He sighed. “Ignorance is bliss, I’ve always agreed to that.” Louis fully knew he wasn’t making sense, his thoughts seemingly jumping, but he was definitely getting there. He spared a moment to collect himself, making sure he would make sense this time around. “I know you’re holding something back from me, Harry. I don’t know how I feel about that. I get the feeling that so long as you don’t tell me the entire truth, I’m always going to be drowning, barely managing to stay afloat long enough to catch my breath. But I _know_ ignorance is bliss, and I don’t think I _want_ to know what you’re keeping a secret from me. I trust that you have a good reason for not telling me”

The line was dead silent for almost a minute, before a whisper-like sound came through to Louis.   
“I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “So you are hiding something from me?”

He could see Harry nodding in his mind’s eye, and then he heard his half-hearted answer, a small, squeaked-out “yes”. Louis didn’t know his heart could break further than it already had, he didn’t think it were possible.

“How bad is it?” Louis asked sadly, although he really didn’t want to know what the answer would be. His hands were trembling, and there was an itching at the back of his throat begging him to be careful, elsewise he might end up in tears.

Harry sighed. “It’s bad.”

Louis whimpered a dangerously quiet sound which broke the stillness around him. “Please tell me you didn’t cheat again?” he asked. His voice was a high-pitched squeal and he really wished he hadn’t had to say the “again” part, but at this point it was necessary. It emphasised how hard this would be on him.

Thankfully, Harry didn’t miss a beat while answering. His words came out jumbled, falling over one another and making his tongue sound tied up in his mouth. “No, God no Louis, that - it was - just no. Nothing like that, I swear.”

Louis let out a long breath. “Then I don’t want to know what it was that happened, or that you did. Maybe some other time, eventually, I’ll ask you, but not right now, okay?” He took another long pull on his joint, finishing it off before throwing it away.

He sat there with the phone uncomfortably wedged between his ear and his shoulder, picking at a scab on his upper arm. It was near a tattoo of his, and he really just wanted it to heal up. The scab, not the tattoo. The tattoo was fine.

“We still need to talk, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Do you want to come over?”

“No,” Louis stated abruptly, shaking his head.

“Do you want me to come over, then?” There was no emotion in Harry’s voice, and Louis was glad for that. It made answering easier.

Louis shook his head again. “I’m sorry Harry. I just know that if I were to actually see you… like I can do this if I can’t look at you. If I were to actually be face to face with you - I just don’t know.”

“That’s fine.” Harry let out a long breath.

Louis let the silence settle a bit before speaking up again. “You still haven’t given me a reasonable explanation as to why you cheated, you know.”

“There is no reasonable explanation, Louis.” Harry paused. “What I did… it disgusts me. And it wouldn’t be this terrible if it were something rational, but it isn’t. It was a sodding - a sodding what, really, a mistake? I know I can’t say it was a mistake anymore, because that’s just unfair. It means that I get to say it was a mistake, while you have to accept that it was a recurrence.”

Louis sighed. “I really wish it didn’t have to be considered that way.”

Harry didn’t answer. Louis pulled the sleeves of his coat down a bit, his fingers kneading at the fabric. _There was no reasonable explanation_. So what was he waiting for? He knew the answer, but he didn’t want it to be true.

The dark sky above was still there for Louis, still the same comforting haze meant to steal away all his worries. He used to sit under it, side-by-side with Harry. Those nights seemed to be so far away now. They were the nights when he was scared. The nights when he would be missing home. And then it had become a habit, even when he couldn’t be with Harry. He would sit still, figuring that Harry was most likely doing the same as him, wherever it was that he was. And in the middle of all those nights, filled with remorse, worry and simply overwhelming emotions, Louis was finally at ease. And soon enough came the night when he came to the realisation that his home was no longer a precise building with an address. It never again was, not since that night, was it?

Then there was suddenly Harry’s steady breathing coming through the receiving end of the phone. His breaths had always been just like his tranquiliser, lulling him towards a more calmed state. Even now, after all that had happened, Louis couldn’t deny that Harry was good for him.

But he was also his poison, and that was what terrified him. Harry would only become lethal after a certain dosage. He didn’t know how tolerant he was to this type of poison. All he knew was that he wanted to test his luck with it. Even if he shouldn’t.

Because he definitely shouldn’t.

“You know, I’ve only ever had sex with you. Since I was sixteen, I mean.” The line had been silent save from Harry’s breath which was still coming through, and Louis had almost forgotten that phones were meant for having conversations with actual words, and not just thoughts.

Louis laughed. “Is this some kind of a sick joke, Harry?” He picked at his nail, turning his hand over in front of him. “Is this you testing whether or not I remember everything you’ve done to me? Because I’ve not forgotten.”

“I meant before what happened had to happen.”

Louis didn’t mention how it didn’t _have_ to happen. Harry had made it happen. “Then what’s your point, Harry? Or are you just enjoying taking a casual stroll down memory lane?”

“What I’m getting at is that when you asked me to marry you, I was thrilled. But as I let the days flow by, I started to worry that I wouldn’t be good enough for you. And then I started to think that, maybe we loved each other as much as we did only, because we had never tried loving anyone else.”

Louis nodded. “Oh, okay, I get it. Then cheating was just an experiment to you!” He hummed, as if it all made sense. “Well that’s complete bollocks, then, because your cheating cost me my heart. So try again.”

There wasn’t much that was making sense in all of this, honestly. Well, not anything relating to Harry, anyway. “I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it did at the time. I felt like it was a rather brilliant idea to try and just be sure that we would work out in the long haul.” Harry sighed.

Louis almost laughed at that. Almost. “And how does that ‘brilliant idea’ seem to you right now? You know, just to check whether or not we’re on the same page.”

“Right now? It feels rather like I was the world’s biggest idiot. Seriously.”

“Okay, good. We’re of the same opinion, then.”

Another silence fell over the conversation, and Louis welcomed it with open arms. This whole thing with Harry was not proving to be stress-free, and he really wished he hadn’t already finished his joint. Maybe he should get up and find himself a bottle of beer, just to help take off a little steam. But then again, he was fairly sure that as soon as Harry would find out he was drinking, their discussion would be over.

Why was he even so worried about Harry hanging up on him? Harry should be the one worrying that Louis would get fed up of talking and just leave, not him. God, he was all kinds of fucked up, wasn’t he.

“So what conclusion did you get from your little ‘experiment’?” Louis asked, steering his mind, which was starting to get a little hazy from both the weed he had had and the sleep he hadn’t had, back towards Harry.

“I really regret it, because it only confirmed how much I love you. Which isn’t bad in itself, but I ruined everything between us by testing out something I already knew.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. Louis could hear him panting a bit, and he vaguely wondered why that was. “Did you know how big the difference between love and lust is? I mean, sure you can get aroused by other people, but once it’s all, you know - gone down, well that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s done, over.”

“I really don’t feel like hearing about your sex life with him, Harry.”

Harry went on as if he hadn’t heard anything. “I had no reason to stay after we were over, and I didn’t quite care about how he felt. I mean, not like I would with you. I was done, and that’s really all that mattered. And as soon as I actually came down from my high, I was just completely worried about you. I didn’t care that he was next to me; I couldn’t stop thinking about how much more meaningful it would have been had it been with you. And how much it hadn’t mattered because it wasn’t with you. Love and lust, that’s what I verified. And when you lust for the person whom you love, that’s when it really matters.” He paused, and Louis could imagine him licking his lips slowly. “That’s you, Lou,” Harry whispered.

It made Louis want to cry. “I really hate this right now. I hate you, and I hate me, and I hate him.” He lowered his voice. “It didn’t mean anything to you, and it better not have meant anything to him -”

“It didn’t,” Harry interrupted.

“I wasn’t finished,” Louis snapped. “It might not have meant anything to you, or between you both, but it meant _so bloody much_ to me, Haz.” He was so caught up in his mind that he didn’t even realise the name-slip.

Harry didn’t say anything, and it was probably best like that. As Louis let full reign to his tears, thinking that “damn it, why do I always cry,” he just didn’t want to hear what Harry would say for himself. Anyways, if he had actually decided to talk, it would have just been like he were under arrest; anything he said could and would be used against him. Smart choice that silence turned out to be, really.

Louis dragged his sleeve under his eyes, catching the wetness there. “I really want us to be on good terms, Harry.”

There was a but coming, Harry knew it, but he still just jumped in. “Yes, please Lou, I would love that. We could be friends, anything, honestly. I just need to be around you. I can’t bear this distance thing.”

Louis sighed. “ _But_ I don’t want to be your friend.” His words were sharp, and he would almost seem threatening if it weren’t for the whimper that escaped his lips not long after. Of course, Harry asked him what he meant by that, in a rather alarmed tone, if Louis would have cared enough to notice. Which he definitely didn’t, absolutely not. “I don’t want to be just friends. I want to be your boyfriend, your fiancé, your husband, anything actually. But not your friend.” He toyed with his ring finger, playing with the non-existent ring, the one he had had to remove.

He got to his feet, making his way to the railing and leaning over it. It almost seemed like he was testing how far he could bend over before he would fall.

“I can’t be your friend, Harry, because I love you. I love you so much, it’s unbearable.” He let his fingers trail along the rusted metal of the fence-like railing. “But I don’t trust you, not anymore.”

To Harry, as he stood on the guest bedroom’s porch, it felt like all the air was being knocked out of his lungs. He had already known all of this; it made more sense for Louis to not trust him than it would if he still did. But knowing and hearing were two entirely different things.

The conversation had drifted away to a silent acknowledgement of everything that needed fixing between them not long after, and Harry had eventually hung up the phone, as had Louis.

Harry needed to know how things would work out. He wanted to be able to look into a crystal ball and see where all this would amount to. But instead, he would go get ridiculously drunk at a pub down the street, as it obviously was the next best thing.

Harry walked to his front door, putting on a jeans jacket and almost not seeing Louis’s jacket, neatly hung by his. Almost.

He pulled it off the coat rack, turning it over in his hands. It was definitely Louis’s. He must have forgotten it when he had come over to confront Harry not too long ago. And as a folded piece of paper dropped to the floor, slipping out of the coat’s front pocket, Harry couldn’t help but realise that it was also Louis’s paper.

He picked it up, sitting down against the inside of the front door. It was a letter.

For him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think, I always love reading about it!


	9. IX

Many things no longer meant anything to Harry. This is something he had to realise at some point, and that point, sadly - or maybe not so sadly - had been almost four months ago. Waking up in the mornings no longer meant anything to him, but he still did it because _what if_. He had no way to know whether or not the day he decided not to wake up would be the one he would have gotten his Louis back. Responsibilities no longer meant much either; Louis had been his responsibility, hadn’t he?

That’s why, when Harry woke up, curled up on the floor next to the front door, Louis’s letter rumpled in his hands, he couldn’t exactly be all that disappointed. He had woken up, and although it wasn’t much, he felt like he was responsible of a part of Louis again; the letter.

Even in his sleep, his knuckles had turned white from how hard he was clenching onto the piece of folded up paper. He spent about five minutes loosening his grip, trying to get his fingers, which seemed to be glued to the letter, to let go.

When he could finally feel something in his fingers again, he stood up and put the paper down on the little table next to the front door. He still hadn’t read it, but he knew he needed to.

He also needed to eat. He made himself pancakes, going for something which, although he knew he would definitely not eat much of, would at least take him some time to prepare.

It didn’t take nearly enough time, though, because soon enough, he was standing in front of the door, the letter once again right under his eyes.

He pocketed it, walking out of his house and into his car. He would read it at the beach. He liked the beach, it would make him a bit bolder, perhaps even enough to actually read this note. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it would take Harry well over two hours to reach the beach if he drove at a somewhat slow speed, obviously.

As he drove, he let his mind wander. In retrospect, that might not have been the best idea, but he couldn’t quite help it, now could he.

He knew he had disappointed Louis already, that was fairly clear to him, and possibly also to anyone around him who dared look deep enough into the mess they had both become. But it wasn’t about that anymore. He knew he was a mess, always had been, but Louis had kept him grounded and sane. He had always been aware of this, was the thing. But what he hadn’t always known, what he had learnt by looking into Louis’s broken features and feeling his pain through eyes that were now closer to an icy blue than they were to some warmer colour, was that there were _no_ reasons to justify his cheating.

Cheating was definitely not something he could explain with a simple “it meant nothing,” because even though it might have not meant anything to Harry, it still sure as hell meant something to Louis. And that, by default, made it mean something to Harry. Actually, cheating was just something he would never ever manage to explain, because it just wasn’t something explainable. It was selfish, and it was cruel, and it was proof of how much of a proper arse he’d been. It wasn’t something logical, something that could be measured or counted, and it sure as hell wasn’t something he could feel had been profitable to him, or Louis, or anyone really.

It was a wreck, and it made him feel pathetic, because he had managed to be enough of a dick to actually lose Louis. His Louis, the same Louis who had promised him he would forever be his. And although he understood and could not in the least bit be angry, he was frustrated. He was mostly frustrated at himself, though; he had actually managed to lose the one thing, the one person, who should have always been his.

Louis had always been a large part of Harry. Now that Harry no longer owned the part of himself which had been Louis’s, the part which Louis had taken with him, Harry didn’t know where the rest of him was anymore. He didn’t know which parts were still there and which parts were gone. It wasn’t like there was a clear, mapped out part of him that he knew was Louis, because in all truthfulness, Louis was everywhere in him. He was in his hair from the number of times Louis had raked his fingers through it; he was in his legs, the strength holding Harry up; he was even in his breath, keeping Harry alive. So how was Harry to know which parts were gone now?

He parked his car a bit crooked, the sand sinking in under his feet as Harry got out of the vehicle. He could feel the letter burning a hole in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out carefully.

When his feet were finally mere inches away from the _very_ cool water, he sank down, sitting amidst the sand. He unfolded the letter, tracing over the deep crease in its center with the flat of his thumb. The first few words caught his eye, and he could tell this wouldn’t be easy to read through. _A hypocrite_.

Once he started, though, not even the tears cascading down his face could stop him. _Now, after you’ve broken me and kicked me while I was down, I know how much of a hypocrite you are_. The letter tore at Harry’s heart, and mind, and soul. He finally had somewhat of an insight into how exactly this had affected Louis, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

Louis had said that Harry was perfect, and wonderful. But that he wasn’t his. Harry knew that he wasn’t “perfect,” nor was he “wonderful,” but he was still Louis’s. That he was sure of, or he would at least make sure of it. As he would later read through the letter a second time, he would have to restrain himself from tearing at his skin, his hands clawing at flesh that would soon become raw.

When Louis mentioned crying himself to sleep because of Harry, the younger boy had to actually pause to gather himself. _I cry myself to sleep every night Harry. And yet you come and ask for me to forgive you, because you can’t do this_. He rubbed his hand down his face, wishing he were like a snake, capable of shedding the outer layer of himself; the parts which had hurt Louis. _I have to live knowing that I wasn’t enough for the person who owned my heart. For the person who still owns my heart_. Harry wanted to be better for him; he wanted to start over with him. He needed to.

Only a few lines lower, Harry noticed how some of the ink had become blotchy under the effect of what he assumed would have been tears.

Oh, how truly wonderful. _What was it that I did wrong, Harry?_ Harry wanted to die.

He had hurt Louis so much, this was incredible.

The letter was all over the place, jumping from how Louis thought all of this was his own fault - to which Harry wanted to yell that it was in no way Louis’s fault -, to wanting Harry back - yes -, and even to Louis doubting everything that had ever happened between them.

_I hate that I love you. I hate that I don’t hate you. I hate myself_. Louis should not be the one hating himself. He was literally perfect, and he should be cared for, he shouldn’t be so broken that he would start hating himself.

The last part though, it kept spinning around in Harry’s mind, consuming him and making the world around him start to spin. Was he supposed to just ignore it? _I’m not alright, Harry. I don’t know how to be alright without you. I don’t know if I want to be_. How was he even supposed to just ignore it? It was just impossible. Harry hung his head in his hands, trying and failing to breathe normally. This just couldn’t be happening. He had hurt Louis so much, and he knew he had no actual idea of what the true damage he had done was.

Louis was good at burying his problems and his feelings, hiding them deep within himself, and Harry just knew he couldn’t ask him about them anymore. He had no right to hear about them anymore.

He had no tangible way of figuring out how long he had stayed seated in the sand, but all he knew was that he felt extremely cold, freezing even. But he still didn’t get up. He couldn’t physically get himself to stand up; he was terrified of crumbling to the ground.

He could feel himself shaking, trembling from either the cold air around him or the overwhelming knowledge of what he had done. Possibly both.

It took Harry the time for the cold air to cut off the blood flow to his feet before he could finally get himself up off the ground. He managed to get a few feet away from his original spot in the ground before crumbling down in a heap of ugly sobs.

He had done all of this to Louis. His Louis, whom he had sworn he would protect until his last breath. Funny how things turned out, wasn’t it?

_You can’t live without me, Harry, is what you’ve said_.

God.

Harry couldn’t quite remember what happened next, to be honest. He knew there was more crying, much more crying, and somewhere amidst the mess he had been he could recall getting into his car. He could remember following the road out to wherever it would lead him.

All he really knew, though, was that he woke up the following morning in an all too familiar room; his childhood bedroom. The walls were still the same peachy colour, and there was still the same comforter on his bed as there had always been. He was lying down on top of the mattress, the sheets still undisturbed from sleep that had been too calm. He could hear his mum talking, supposedly on the phone, on the floor below him in a hushed manner.

He got up slowly, putting on a shirt a few sizes too large, which had been thoughtfully laid out for him. It hit him around mid-thigh, only allowing a slim strip of his briefs to show underneath it. He had yesterday’s socks still pulled on, keeping Harry from shivering from the contact with the cold floor.

His attire would have to do. It was only his mum after all.

He made his way downstairs, carefully avoiding the step which he knew would creak under his weight. He passed Anne, and directed himself towards the stove, putting the kettle on to brew himself a cup of tea. Harry could feel his mum’s eyes trained on him as she made haste of ending her phone call. He could feel her lingering close behind him, carefully gauging the situation. How would Harry react if she were to confront him?

When he could hear the loud whistling of the now boiling water, Harry pulled it off the stove and poured it into his already-put-out cup. He turned around, silently offering his mum some, and she nodded, gladly accepting the drink.

They both sat down at the dining room table, Anne clearly studying each and every one of Harry’s breaths, moves, everything, really. Harry carefully spun the small spoon that was stuck in his cuppa around, twirling it slowly with one finger. He briefly wondered how long this awkward, but oddly comfortable, silence would go on with his mum.

Apparently, the answer was “not long.”

“Out with it, Harry,” she spoke softly between sips of her tea.

Harry shrugged, aiming for oblivious but really only getting at tired. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His shoulders sagged, as if he couldn’t believe he really had to talk about it.

Anne laughed a bubbly sound that took off a lot of the tension in the room. Harry knew he was the cause for that tension. “Harry, baby, I love you, but you’re not getting out of this one. You’ve barely talked to me in these past four months; I’ve spoken more often to the cashier you used to fancy, you know the one who works at Asda.” She paused, gauging his reaction. He stayed as emotionless as a fish. “Now I get that you needed time, what with the breakup-” Harry visibly tensed at that, and she quickly apologised, “but when you show up at my doorstep unannounced with tears streaming down your face at half past one in the morning… Well, you can’t possibly blame a mother for worrying.”

Harry sighed. No, he absolutely didn’t blame her. He blamed himself.

He could clearly recall it, though, now; knocking on his mum’s front door late at night. He hadn’t known how late it actually was, but now that she’d mentioned it, half past one seemed to be about right. He remembered still being grasping onto the crumpled piece of paper that was Louis’s letter, babbling about something which must have sounded vaguely like how much of a completely horrible person he was.

He remembered that perfectly; thinking how no one could ever be a worse human being than he had been. He remembered whispering it under his breath over and over, until his tongue was tied down by the heaviness of the words.

He could somehow conjure up enough out of yesterday’s memories to remember almost throwing a fit when Anne had tried to pry the letter from his tight fingers. He also remembered breaking down crying in front of her, probably something about Louis, and now that he thought about it, he could recognise the distinct taste of bile in the back of his throat, something he had blamed on morning breath.

His mum should definitely be given an award for having managed to handle the mess that had been Harry yesterday night. Forget the Grammys, she deserved much more.

She was looking up at him through her dark eyelashes now, allowing him to think up what he would say.

After five minutes, which soon turned into ten, they had both finished their tea. Harry still had less than no idea how to start with everything that needed saying.

He counted to ten slowly in his head, and then reached into his briefs’ waistband. He had tucked the letter away there; feeling it continually against his skin somehow made him feel better. It was like being able to feel Louis’s presence, although not really. He slid it across the table to his mum, not daring to look at her.

She carefully unfolded it, as though fearing something would jump out at her. When the letter seemed to lack anything harmful in any physical way - Harry knew how much it could hurt someone emotionally, had been the first person to experience this - she relaxed. However, as Anne’s eyes read through the tight scrawl of Louis’s handwriting, she started tensing up again.

Harry could tell the exact moment his mum was done with the letter, and he was slightly worried of what she would do next. Would she yell at him? Would she pity him?

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, she did neither. She simply put it down, reaching for both hers and Harry’s now empty cups of tea and got up, walking away. Harry sat still, baffled and unsure of what to do. His mum had just up and left, right after he had let her read through the piece of paper which had quite literally tore his heart to shreds.

He could hear her shuffling through the cupboards in the kitchen. Should he go talk to her?

He didn’t quite have to think that one too thoroughly, Anne returning shortly after. She didn’t sit back down in front of Harry, but instead stood at an odd distance from him. Harry didn’t push her about it, though. He kept his eyes glued to the wooden surface of the table, starting to feel anxiety filling him up.

He couldn’t look at his mum, but apparently she had no problem fixing him with a steady and intense glare. “Do you want to tell me how you and Louis broke up, Harry?” she asked slowly, Harry finding an edge to her tone which he had never heard there before.

He whined. “You just read about it.”

“Yes, but I read it through Louis’s point of view. And he didn’t explicitly mention it.”

Harry looked up, his eyes a pleading request. “But you _must_ roughly understand what happened, mum.”

She shook her head. “I want to hear you say it.” She didn’t say it forcefully or cruelly, it was purely a statement.

He shook his head sadly. “I can’t.”

Anne seemed to consider it. “Did you cheat on Louis, Harry?” she finally settled on asking.

He looked up at her through shining eyes, and his expression was all the confirmation she needed. Harry didn’t know what he had expected to happen, and his mum once again surprised him with her reaction; she pulled a chair out and sunk into it, a lone tear making its way down her cheek.

“Why?” she whispered, and Harry couldn’t help but feel like she was almost as broken up about this as he had been. He knew she was sad because she had known how much Louis meant to him, and she had at least been hoping to be able to sympathise with her son, but she would clearly be having none of that now. She loved Louis too much to blame him for the breakup.

Harry shook his head. Try and try he might, he now knew that he would never manage to find an answer to that question. Why _had_ he cheated, indeed?

In the course of the next hour, he would explain everything to her. He would obviously leave out a few parts, but the thought was mainly there.

Except when he got to The First Time, he couldn’t help but space out a bit.

He could remember arriving at Nick’s, already half-drunk off of the idea of _getting drunk_. And boy did he end up getting drunk.

***

“Truth or dare, Haz?” Nick’s slurred voice came through the fog clogging up Harry’s mind.

He started outright giggling, his hand resting loosely at his friend’s knee. Harry was sitting on the floor at Nick’s feet, the latter having obviously claimed the rightful ownership to his own couch. What a shame, really, this carpet was turning out to be quite comfortable. “Really, Nick, how old are you?” Harry pondered his choices carefully though, rejoicing in the fact that the other people at the party were all too pissed to notice the two of them. “Knowing you, if I say dare, it’s going to be something that’ll result in my staying for an extensive period of time in a hospital. Obviously the smart choice here would be to go for truth.”

Nick laughed airily, the very many drinks he had had aiding him in how light he was feeling. “Well then,” he sighed, “I dare you to get up on that table over there,” he pointed to a table in the middle of where a large crowd of people drunkenly making out could be found, “and dance the Macarena, singing the lyrics out full blast.”

Harry scowled. “I chose truth.”

“Oh, come on, mate!” Nick replied. “It’s a fairly harmless dare.”

Harry looked over at the table, eyes blinking shut under the force of alcohol. “I don’t even know the lyrics to Macarena!”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t care, wing it!”

Harry grumbled, picking himself up off of the ground, and after a few too-long minutes, he was making his way back towards Nick, who now had a shit eating grin on him.

Harry sulked as he sat back down on the ground, something odd to see coming from a grown man. Alcohol made him quite moody sometimes.

Nick, on the other hand, was excitedly clapping. “Ace, mate, I’ve got myself a video of that. Quite amazing, honestly. You did brilliant!”

“Cheers. Now it’s my turn.”

The game went on for some while, drunken banter making them burst out laughing every now and then. Harry couldn’t quite concentrate on whatever it was he was doing; too entertained by how fast it was possible for him to down the alcohol he had in hand, almost playing a drinking game by himself. Turned out it wasn’t quite as boring as it sounded.

Nick was once again concentrating on either an invasive question to ask or an embarrassing dare to coax Harry into doing when the golden band on the fourth finger of Harry’s left hand caught his eye. Light had just shone off of it, making it hard to miss.

Nick smirked, looking up at Harry who now wore a shy expression. “What’s the ring for, H?”

Harry lifted his glass back up to his lips, cursing the lack of drink filling it up, before facing Nick again, cheeks visibly brightened. He spluttered a bit, gasping for air. “What do you think it’s for?”

Nick smirked. “Is it a purity ring? Are you trying to protect your virtue?” There was a wicked gleam in the man’s eyes, pairing up perfectly with his teasing. He poked once at Harry’s ribs.

Harry squealed, trying to scramble away from Nick. He ended up sitting on the floor near the edge of the sofa. “God, no, way too late for that.” His blush intensified at that, something which he had been really hoping, wouldn’t be possible.

Nick smiled genuinely at him this time. “So he proposed then?”

They didn’t often talk about Louis together, him and Nick not getting on too well, so Harry just preferred to keep them both separate as much as possible. It wasn’t all that terribly difficult to do either, considering how they weren’t naturally all that inclined to have large conversations about the other.

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I love him so much, Nick.”

Nick nodded, allowing the conversation to drift off to some other subject easily. As mentioned previously, he wasn’t all that inclined to talk about Louis in abundance.

They kept talking, drinking through the conversation. At some point, Harry vaguely realised that one glass had turned into ten, and that not long after he had stopped being able to count the multiplying glasses laying on the table in front of him. They kept moving around, the bloody bastards, almost dancing across the table, much too quickly for Harry to manage to keep track of their growing numbers. Nick wasn’t doing terribly with his drinks either, a neat pile of glasses, which could easily compete with Harry’s own collection, appearing at his feet.

Their speeches were getting increasingly slurred. They were both somehow managing to understand each other through them though, which was a feat on its own.

“I’ve told them like a bazillion times that they should do something about the broken heater. Like it keeps clogging up the toilets and, like you know,” Nick was adamantly defending his point.

Now although Harry wasn’t quite sure what said point was, he could absolutely tell that it made complete sense, and he found himself easily nodding along. “Yeah, the heater is a problem, like I hear you.” He furrowed his brows. “Why haven’t they fixed it already, hasn’t it been _months_ since it first broke?”

Nick waved at some person who passed them even though they didn’t seem to be paying him any mind. “I know, right? But I think it was something about how they wouldn’t fix the heater if people kept opening their windows. Stupid rules, really.”

Harry nodded, pushing his fringe, which was starting to fall into his eyes, away.

Nick suddenly and without any preamble took a hold of his hand, turning it over so as to better examine the ring. It wasn’t anything over the top, a simple gold band. The true beauty of it was on the inside anyway, where Louis had had “ _We can’t change_ ” carved in a delightfully brilliant font. He had always loved that one of Harry’s tattoos, had told him so on numerous occasions. Harry had still had it covered, feeling like there was a big difference between “ _I can’t change_ ,” and “ _We can’t change_.” Louis had agreed with his doing so, understanding how the anchor conveyed their feelings for each other in a unique albeit different way.

Nick nodded, letting go of Harry’s hand and stealing himself a sip of his drink. Harry wondered where he had gotten it, realising he himself was starting to run low on accessible alcohol.

“It’s a beautiful ring, Harry.” There was a layer of sheer honesty in his voice, and Harry smiled at it.

“I really love him, so much.”

Nick looked into Harry’s eyes, evidently searching for something. “You seem reluctant, though.”

“What?”

“I mean, just, are you happy with it? With the engagement? I don’t mean to be mean, obviously...”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I love him so much, I could never regret this.”

“But?” Nick prodded.

Harry sighed. “But what if I disappoint him? I couldn’t live with myself if I ever disappointed Lou. I mean, I keep thinking about how yes, he’s been with other people before me, but we’ve been together for so long, what if he’s really only into me because he’s never actually had the chance to explore?”

Nick shook his head. He took another sip of his drink, or more like another gulp. “What’s this really about, Harry? You know that if Louis’s in this, it’s because it’s what he wants to happen.”

Harry looked down at his lap. “I’ve been with him since I was sixteen. I’ve only ever wanted _him_ since I was sixteen. He’s my everything, Nick. But what happens if I can’t be that for him?”

“You’re just being thick, there, Harry. Even I’ve noticed how he looks at you like you’re his bloody sun, and moon, and all the stars that fill up his sky.”

Harry smiled. “But what if I can never love him proper, like he deserved to be loved, because I’ve never quite known how it is when you love _wrongly_. How it is to lose your heart because you’ve broken up with the one person you love more than life itself.” Harry was being irrational, even he knew this.

Nick shook his head. “Are you saying that you actually want to experience a breakup with Louis? Because that is the single stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard a lot of stupid shit, Harry.”

“God, no.” Harry seemed mortified. “Of course not, but I mean, what if I can never quite be enough for Louis?” Somehow, there were three new shot glasses lined up besides all the other drinks Harry had had tonight. He’d counted those last ones in his head, thanking the Gods for giving them to him.

In the next few minutes, Harry would somehow manage to end up between Nick’s legs, on the floor. He was looking up at him through sad eyes. What if Louis was wrong? What if they weren’t meant for each other? What if Harry wasn’t good for Louis? Harry knew that Lou could do better.

Harry sighed, and as the tears he was holding back turned into shy kisses to Nick’s lips, and then into more, Harry couldn’t help but think that Louis could definitely do better. So why was he wasting his time, fooling around with Harry?

When Harry woke up the following morning, someone lying in the bed next to him, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how it wasn’t the right person. The same went for the two other times it would happen, although the feeling was intensified after each betrayal.

***

Anne sighed; she was restraining herself from brushing her hands through Harry’s flattened down hair. “It doesn’t make any sense Harry. You know that Louis loves you so _bloody much_. You two can be a right pain when you’re all loved-up”

Harry sighed. He wanted to take the easy way out, but God knows that there was no easy way out. Not for him, he didn’t deserve one, anyway.

“Well what are you going to do now, sweetie?” she asked tenderly.

“That’s the thing, innit, mum? What _can_ I do?” He paused. “I need help, mum. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Anne sighed, not quite believing that this full-grown man besides her was her son. Stupid, but still very much loved, son “You’ve got to choose,” she said, recognising the worry in Harry’s confused expression. “Between Louis and Nick, I mean.”

Harry was the one to sigh this time. “Louis.” There was no hesitation in his tone, because, well, if there was one thing he was certain of in his life at the moment, it must be this.

Anne smiled softly. “Well then you’ve got to make it up to him, love. You’ve disappointed and let him down in pretty much every way you could. Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true. But now, you’ve got to figure out how to fix what you’ve broken; you’ve gotta clean up your mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's day!

Harry woke up unusually early a few days later, even for himself. Of course, that implied that he had actually gone to sleep the previous night, which was on its own an improvement. _I cry myself to sleep every night Harry_. Louis’s voice was like a broken record, and it was continuously driving a bulldozer through Harry’s mind. When had that letter been written? Were its contents still accurate, still true?

He climbed out of bed.

He knew what he had to do, he had been going over it for the past days, but perhaps it would help to make himself a list of everything. This all had to be absolutely perfect; Harry would not be getting another chance. He knew that; he’d been given too many already, more than any smart person would have given him.

No, that wasn’t true. Louis was brilliant. But he was also tolerant, and Harry didn’t deserve him. He knew that, was fully aware that any other person would have run for the hills a long time ago. Harry was fully aware, as he walked into the kitchen, that what he was asking of Louis, to be given another chance, was immensely unfair. He couldn’t possibly prove that he wouldn’t break his heart again, hell he probably would. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be better.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table, reaching out to grab onto a piece of ripped up paper and a pen. He let the pen glide across the scrap of paper a few times, marking out a beautifully abstract bubbly figure, which was in reality a dozen incongruous lines that somehow fit perfectly together.

And then, the first item of the long list of things Harry would need to do in order to make this work appeared amidst the mess.

_1\. Call for delivery from the restaurant we went to on our first date._

He carefully drew the period at the end of the sentence, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s in the sentence. He was treating this checklist carefully, applying himself much more than he had ever done with any school project he had ever handed in. It was excruciatingly important for everything about his plan to be perfect.

However, as Harry looked over his first item, chewing on his lower lip, he realised that he’d already made a mistake. He tapped his pen a few seconds across the tabletop, finally deciding himself to modify the list.

_~~1.~~ 2\. Call for delivery from the restaurant we went on our first date._

_1\. Get Louis’s new address._

Although Louis had been living in that flat for quite some time now, too long Harry would say, Harry still hadn’t gotten his address. It was a completely unknown area to him. Plus, the boys were rather reluctant to give it to him, seeing as Louis had moved out for a reason, after all. Harry would have to be sneaky.

Suddenly, Harry’s phone chirped up, the loud ringtone bursting out through the empty house. He grabbed for it from across the table. When he saw the name blink across the phone screen, he swallowed hard. Nick. Harry’s thumb lingered over the answering button, but he quickly clicked on the other one, deciding it would be smarter to ignore the call. He’d explain himself to Nick later, but right now, he needed to make things right with Louis. That was his priority.

The rest of the list wrote itself rather quickly, a logical continuity of what was already jotted down.

_3\. Order Louis flowers._

_4\. Apologise and work for it._

It turned out not being too long, but that didn’t make it any less important. Each point held dozens of small details that would have to play out perfectly. Harry felt like the most important part of the whole plan was the second half of the last point, though. _Work for it_. He knew this wouldn’t be easy; it wouldn’t be fair if it were to be easy. God knew this whole ordeal hadn’t been easy for Louis, far from it, and it was only logical that it shouldn’t be half as easy for Harry.

Harry took his phone back into his hand, having laid it down on the table after the call he’d ignored. He briefly pondered which one of the boys he should call for the address. If Zayn was drunk or high, he’d be fairly easy to convince, but considering how he was at his parents’ place at the moment, Harry really doubted that he’d strike lucky. Niall would be hard to convince, but once Harry would have managed, Niall wouldn’t be likely to back check whatever Harry would’ve told him. Liam, however, might verify what Harry would have told him, but Harry could sense that he wanted Harry and Louis to be back together.

Harry made his choice, Liam, praying that he would be able to count on that last point to get Louis’s house address.

He spent the next hour convincing himself that he should just do it now.

Easier said than done, really.

He eventually forced himself to dial Liam’s number, letting it ring on the other end. He waited and waited, but ended up getting sent to voicemail. He called again, and again. He wouldn’t stop trying to reach Liam until he got a hold of him. And although it took him ten good minutes, and then some, he finally managed to get reach him.

“This better be good, Styles. You’ve been ringing me for over ten minutes.” His tone was short and clipped, and if Harry didn’t know any better he would say Liam sounded borderline angry. “I could only hope that you would’ve gotten the message after the first few times I sent you to voicemail that I’m not in the mood for talking right now, but clearly you didn’t.”

Harry took in a large breath, holding it in for good measure. He waited a few seconds until his lungs started to burn, and then he spoke up, releasing the air caught in his chest in a quick exhale. “I need Louis’s house address.” The words were spoken pointedly, Harry emphasising each syllable in an attempt to make himself quite convincing.

He knew he’d fallen short of his goal the minute he closed his mouth. Although the sentence had held a determined afterthought, his voice had quivered on the last word, making Harry shrink down to the size of a vulnerable child. He was being honest; he needed Louis’s house address; not because it would make him feel better, but because he needed to heal Louis up.

Liam coughed. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Harry?” he asked. Harry could hear some background noise coming through the receiver. Good. If Liam was in public, there were less chances of him getting annoyed at Harry. This meant he was more likely to accept his request.

Harry let himself walk across his too-large living room, plopping down into the sofa. “Absolutely not, Liam.”

He heard Liam excuse himself from whatever conversation he was having where he was. That wasn’t good. It meant he was going to take his time with Harry, to really think everything through.

He heard more commotion from Liam’s end, although it was quieting down rather quickly. Harry decided to put the telly on, hoping that maybe if Liam thought that Harry was out someplace public, he would try not to upset him too much.

After a moment which seemed to stretch out into eternity, Liam sighed. “You’re gonna have to give me a hell of a reason in order to convince me I wouldn’t be clinically insane by giving you Louis’s address.”

Harry was about to respond, but didn’t actually get the chance to.

“Before you say anything,” Liam said softly, “I’ll need you to consider what you said just now.”

Harry shook his head. “What did I say?”

“You said you didn’t think I was idiotic.” Liam paused. “If that’s the case, remind me again how it wouldn’t be stupid of me to give you this information, after everything Louis has gone through to keep you away from him?”

Harry twisted the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers. He grabbed for the remote, raising the television volume until he couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore. “Look, yes we’ve been having problems recently-”

“Problems don’t usually stop you from functioning for months at a time,” Liam cut in.

Harry had to think fast. “He stopped by not too long ago and forgot his jacket here. Louis did, I mean. He asked me to bring it over to him whenever.”

He could imagine Liam considering it over the line. He could actually picture him narrowing his eyes in concentration, perhaps even pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “And you didn’t think of asking him for his address then? I mean, it would’ve been the logical thing to do, don’t you think?”

Harry almost swore. Liam was quite good at finding flaws in his excuses. Harry got up, trapping the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, carefully weighing out how he should answer. “I know right?” He figured if he agreed with Liam that he hadn’t thought it through when talking to Louis, he might convince him better. He didn’t enjoy lying to any of the boys, but he really needed the address. “I thought about it as soon as I’d hung up, but Louis had seemed to have been in quite a rush, so I thought it would be better to try again later.”

“So why did you call me and not him, then?” Liam asked. “You literally just said you thought of calling him later on.” He was getting suspicious, not that he hadn’t already been in the beginning.

Harry sighed. “Trust me, I tried, but I keep getting voicemail.” He sounded honest enough.

“Didn’t seem to stop you from trying to get a hold of me, though.”

Harry put the now-empty glass of water down on the granite counter, taking his time eying it. It had just been swaying in his hand uselessly before. “Yeah but I didn’t even get through to the first ring. His phone must either be dead or off, and it’s the only number I’ve got.” He added the last part in before Liam could say anything against it.

There was a faint tapping over the line, and Harry vaguely wondered what it was. “So you only want to give him back his jacket?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.

“And he’s okay with that?”

“Totally.” Harry bit his lip. This was something he feared Liam would check into.

There was a short minute of silence during which the only thing Harry could hear, other than the obnoxiously loud telly, was Liam’s breathing. “And let’s say,” Liam finally spoke up, “I were to call Louis.” Harry had to keep himself from grunting. He’d thought right. “Would he tell me everything you’ve just said?”

Harry had to take a second to steady himself. He couldn’t make his following words come out sounding as a lie; then he’d be absolutely dead. “Yes. Unless he’s suddenly changed his mind, but I don’t think he would’ve. He seemed like he wanted the jacket back soon.”

Harry mentally swore at himself; why’d he have to add in that last sentence. God, he could only hope that it wouldn’t sound too cheery for Liam. He started up on another subject, hoping to distract Liam enough for him not to notice that.

A few minutes of idle conversation trickled by, during which Harry held his breath, allowing Liam to weigh out his options while talking. Eventually, Liam sighed, cutting Harry off. “Okay, I’ll trust you on this one.” He then proceeded to ask Harry whether he had a pen and paper or not, soon after going ahead and reciting Louis’s new address out for him.

Harry thanked Liam, allowing a decent amount of time to go by before jumping to his next question. He didn’t want to seem like he’d been planning this conversation too thoroughly. “Li?”

Liam hummed.

“Does Louis have anything planned out for today?” Harry asked.

Liam didn’t answer, and Harry figured he wasn’t all that comfortable telling him about everything Louis had aimed so hard to keep a secret.

Harry laughed, trying not to make it sound too forced. “Don’t worry; I’m not planning on taking him out for dinner or anything.” He felt an acute pinching in his chest at that; he would absolutely adore to be allowed to take Louis out on a date. He plastered an entirely too plastic smile on his face though, hoping it would make him sound more genuine; perhaps if he looked fake, he might sound honest. “I just wanna make sure I’m not wasting my time by going over at his tonight.” When Liam still seemed to be rather reluctant towards answering, Harry pushed a bit harder. “I’m not sure management would approve of my going over two days in a row; paps might think something’s up.”

This seemed to convince Liam. “No, mate, I doubt he’s doing anything tonight. I was supposed to drop by his around seven, you know, just check up on him.” Harry did know; the boys did the same with him every other day or so.

He perked up at that all the same; it might actually aid his plans if Liam still visited Louis. “Are you still planning on doing that, or…?” He let the end of his sentence drift away, not wanting to come off too inclined towards one way or the other.

Liam chuckled. “Yeah, I’m fairly sure the other boys would have off with my head if anything happened to Louis when I was supposed to be checking up on him. I can’t just _not_ go.” Harry knew that that was fairly accurate as to how the boys acted around him and Louis nowadays; carefully, as though they were bombs on the verge of blowing up. And maybe they were. He also knew that when Liam had said that he had to make sure nothing happened to Louis, it actually meant that he had to make sure that Louis didn’t do anything to himself.

Harry smiled nonetheless. Everything was going to work out! Now he just needed to make sure he’d gathered all the information he needed before he could let himself hang up. He mentally went over his short to-do list, half listening to Liam, who was still talking.

“So are you still going out with Nick tonight?” he asked innocently, managing to capture Harry’s attention. There was no prejudice, no ulterior meaning behind those words. It was an honest question.

Harry paused, going through his mental checklist. _So that’s why Nick had called him!_ He vaguely remembered having planned a night out with Nick a few weeks ago, which was scheduled for tonight.

On one hand, Harry felt bad to be a no-show without giving Nick any type of warning, but he knew he couldn’t actually go. Not now at least. So he made a decision, shaking out his hair before answering Liam. “No, I called it off a while ago,” he half lied.

He worried for a second that Liam would ask why, but after another instant, he knew that he wouldn’t. He just hummed in acknowledgment, signaling that he had heard Harry, although he didn’t think much of this newfound information.  But then: “I get the feeling that Louis doesn’t quite like Nick.” He wasn’t asking for a confirmation; he wanted an explanation.

Harry carefully chose his words, trying to dance around the answer that was pounding against his head, but he couldn’t exactly bring himself to actually say those words. “A good deal of stuff happened between the lot of them.” He didn’t mention how he was absolutely at cause for everything that had gone down, or how he was a part of “the lot of them”. How whatever had gone down between Louis and Nick had also had so many repercussions on him and Louis.

Liam hummed once again, but this time it didn’t sound like a careless, meaningless sound. It was more of a persistence, trying to get Harry to spill out more information.

Harry couldn’t say anything more though, but he knew that it wasn’t fair not to say anything at all. Not after everything the boys had had to go through in order to avoid maximum damage. Harry didn’t actually know how he and Louis could ever be any worse than they already were, couldn’t possibly begin to imagine how they could ever be in a more horrid place than they were at the moment, but he knew it was possible. Knowing Louis, and knowing himself - although both those things were fairly debatable, he realised - it would have been entirely achievable They wouldn’t have cared enough to keep themselves from getting there.

He wanted to say something, he owed Liam that much, but when he tried speaking, the words got caught in his throat.

_You can’t make it sound_ good _. That’s the thing, Harry! It’s not something good; you can’t make believe it was! Like breaking my heart was beneficial to us! Do you know how shitty that would be towards me? As if completely breaking me wasn’t enough, now you want to make yourself not seem as horrible as you actually are. That’s bullshit, Harry!_

He could hear Louis clear as day in his mind, the exact same as he had been when he had yelled out those words, the day they had kissed. And how truthful had those words been. He lowered the telly’s volume, trying to coax his beating heart into slowing down. He wished it would at least beat at a pace that wouldn’t be hitting against his eardrums fast and hard, keeping him from thinking on his own.

Louis’s words kept going on a loop inside his ears, and with each run through of them, Harry could feel himself melt further into the ground, which he didn’t remember having sat down on. _You killed me, Harry_.

Harry counted to ten in his head slowly, trying to match his now racing breathing to each number. Inhale, exhale. Again and again, until he could find something to say.

He wasn’t the one to speak, though.

“Do you regret it?” came Liam’s voice. There was no judgmental tone, once again, no reproach in his words. Only pure questioning, and perhaps a longing for something that no longer was there.

Harry sighed. “Yes.” There really wasn’t anything else to add to that, it would all just be superfluxes, decorations, and disguises.

Liam didn’t need to know what “it” was. He really didn’t want to know, because then he’d have to take sides. Harry knew this, but he also knew it wasn’t fair that the boys _weren’t_ taking sides. It wasn’t fair to Louis that they still regarded Harry the same as they always had, except that now they were sad for him. They shouldn’t be sad; they should be disgusted, angry, repulsed.

“Good then,” Liam spat, surprising Harry. “That means you’re not afraid to work for it.” Harry was reminded of his fourth point, and found himself nodding in agreement. Liam let an easy silence slip in between the two of them, before continuing. “I have to go, mate. But just remember, I trust you.”

And as Harry hung up, he couldn’t help but think about how he didn’t deserve to be trusted. But then he realised; people will trust each other until they’ve learned better than to do that. Liam hadn’t learned yet, because he had been sheltered away from all the vital information that would alter his opinion of Harry.

After hanging up, Harry found himself on his own again in his empty flat, finding refuge in the voices coming from the telly. It was a cruel illusion, making him believe he wasn’t as alone as he really was, but it was an illusion nonetheless. One he didn’t mind.

He sat himself up on the couch, getting out of the position he had previously been in; crouched down on himself. He laid down his to-do list on the low coffee table, the piece of paper having been crumpled in his hand, and he eyed it cautiously before making out to complete it.

He called the florist first, and the restaurant, trying not to be too nervous. He told himself over and over that everything would be perfectly fine. Because it would; it had to be.

Better than that, it had to be absolutely perfect.

It had to be enough, but not too much. It wasn’t much, truth be told, but Harry didn’t want to scare Louis away, not when he was just starting to be allowed to talk to him again. He still couldn’t help but fear he would seem inconsiderate. He took a deep, steadying breath. This was Louis. His Louis. He took another deep breath. Everything would go according to plan, and it would all be brilliant.

He got up, clutching at his phone and starting to pace across the living room.

He could always call Nick, talk it through. Or even just drop him a text. Harry just needed not to feel alone right now. As he thumbed through his phone though, he knew doing just that would be one of the most idiotic ideas ever. So instead, he curled up on himself, sending off a short and cold explanation to Nick as to why he wouldn’t show up later tonight, not even bothering to look at what the reply was when it came through, his phone vibrating against his chest.

Harry laid there for a long time, eventually drifting off to sleep. It was a sleep filled with vivid dreams. All he would remember when he would wake up, though, would be cyclones drowning him beneath their strength. Harry didn’t mind them, though. All he could think of during the dream was how the blue water matched up perfectly with Louis’s deep eyes, and with how they used to shine; all he could hear was the sweet lulling of the waves, like the sound of Louis’s voice singing him to sleep.

_Please let everything be okay._

_Please come back to me, Harry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a bit filler-y to me, but it absolutely isn't, I want you all to know that. I'm not all that sure how I feel about it yet, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long overdue but I'd really like to thank Emma. She's sort of my beta, although she doesn't correct grammar or anything like that. She mostly tells me what she thinks of the chapters when I finish them, and also helps me when I'm stuck on something with the story. She motivates me a lot, so thank you Emma, if you ever come across this! Love you!

Harry rolled over, grumbling. Something had woken him up, and it wasn’t just the blinding light shooting past his curtains and into his eyes, which happened to be hidden away in the crook of his arm. It was far too early for such a glorious sun to be out; an almost unfairly joyful sign considering how Harry felt. How he felt could easily be summed up by the following phrase: utter shit. There was an intense pain clogging up his mind, one that would usually be attributable to hangovers. This was disconcerting, though, considering how Harry couldn’t remember having had a drink the previous night.

No, he hadn’t had a drink. There was no foul taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t spot any empty liquor bottles littering the floor. He wasn’t nauseous, and his sensitivity to light could rather easily be linked to his just waking up rather than to one too many drinks. So definitely not hung-over.

He got to his feet, swaying slightly. Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head before opening them up again. The light was a bit less intense than it had seemed to be a few instants prior, but it still made him squint.

He was standing in his bedroom. The sheets and bedspread that were supposed to be on his mattress had managed to find their way to the floor, along with Harry’s pillow. He picked all of the items up and threw them back on top of his bed. Amongst the lot, Harry barely noticed his phone falling out of the sheets. It hit the ground in a loud, empty crash, which managed to capture his attention.

He bent down to reach for it, not too worried about the state of his phone; it hadn’t made a breaking sound or anything, after all. He flipped it over nonetheless, confirming that it was still perfectly okay, and almost jumped when it buzzed in his hands.

He’d just received a text, which was probably what had woken him up, too. Harry frowned, opening up his messages app and realising it was from twitter. He was about to disregard it and go make himself breakfast when he noticed which one of the boys’ tweets had just been sent to him: Louis’s.

He bit down on his lower lip, opening the conversation to see what Louis had tweeted. It was usually something about football.

It wasn’t about football this time, that was for sure.

Actually, it wasn’t about anything really, especially because it wasn’t mentioning someone in particular, which would at least explain that it was an inside joke.

Still, Harry knew fully well that it was meant for him. Because, well, it was. What appeared on his screen was simple, a four-word sentence. Harry had heard it on the radio countless times, but somehow it held an entirely new meaning coming from Louis.

_@Louis_Tomlinson: You better work bitch_

He probably shouldn’t, but Harry still smiled to himself. Thinking about it, he realised that Louis wasn’t outright telling him to give up; he wasn’t saying that Harry had less than no chances at winning him back, either, something he would have been perfectly entitled to doing. And that meant the world to Harry.

He’d just better not mess it up this time.

***

His fingers trailed up the stem of the impossibly beautiful flowers he had taken out of the vase, on the table. He smiled, picking up the card that had been attached to them.

Louis had half a mind to just throw everything to the ground - the flowers, the note, even the photo-album Harry had made for him months ago - and just stomp on it all until there was no more beauty left in any of it, until it had all turned to dust. But as he found himself looking at those simple, lovely objects, he couldn’t help himself from feeling joy pit up in his stomach. Harry _cared_ about him, and because of that, he couldn’t help but feel the subtle hint at a smile that was ghosting his features, either. Louis could feel himself drawn in by the objects, drawn in by Harry.

His hand twitched as he unfolded the small red card. His eyes skimmed at the clean script inside, almost as if he were making sure it was still the same thing as all those other times he’d read over the words.

It still was.

Louis put the card back down, sitting up on the cracking surface of his kitchen countertop. His hands folded themselves in his lap as he looked through the small window in the wall.

***

Louis was sitting on the worn out couch of his living room, watching the telly, although he wasn’t actually paying any mind to it. Nothing good was on, so he’d ended up listening to some crap reality show with actors who probably had more unnatural body parts than the rest of Great Britain's population combined.

He sneered when he saw that two of the stars had started a fight, definitely over something of pity importance. He still decided to root for the one with the long hair - was it Rebecca? Or maybe Jemima? It really didn’t matter anyways. Louis started to cheer for her, almost as intensively as he would for a football match. Well, maybe not as intensely, but it came in pretty close. Sort of. It didn’t really matter; he was just trying to distract himself.

Up until now, today had been a green day, which showed a lot of improvement, even if it lasted only for 24 hours. It meant a lot, and it allowed Louis to breathe without feeling the crushing pressure on his lungs, for once. It felt good, actually.

There was a faint knocking on his front door, but Louis didn’t feel like getting up to answer. Once again, he decided to go with the tactic that if it were someone of importance, they would either have a key or know where to find a one. If it was someone else, well Louis was having a green day and he would much rather not have it ruined by anyone.

After roughly five minutes of trying to listen to crappy telly over the noise, he heard the steady knocking getting louder, almost becoming like a continuous pounding. Louis sighed, deciding to give the person another minute before he would get up to tell whoever was there to just piss off.

He counted to thirty in his head, slowly, trying to drag out the numbers as much as possible. However, there was a limit pas which it wouldn’t really be acceptable to not get up, so he eventually had to go check who was at the door.

Louis reluctantly got up, quickly checking the time. It was 6:58 PM.

He didn’t bother checking in the peep-hole before throwing the door open, frowning as he saw a disheveled Liam standing just out of the reach of the pouring rain. He was holding up flowers in one hand and a container in the other. Louis wanted to question him as to why he was bringing him this.

“So can I come in?” Liam asked when Louis showed no signs of allowing him inside. “It’s sort of raining, in case you didn’t notice already,” he sarcastically added.

Louis shrugged, moving to the side. He took the flowers from Liam’s hands as the latter removed his coat. They made their way to the living room, Louis still holding onto the flowers.

When they sat down in the couch, Louis finally voiced his curiosity. “Any reason as to why you decided to bring me flowers, Li?” He had a comical and definitely fake glee in his tone.

Liam leaned down into the sofa. “They’re not from me. I found them on your front door when I got here.”

Louis nodded. “And you didn’t feel like using your key to get in? You were knocking for like, five minutes straight.” He looked at the flowers in his own lap, smelling their distinct and wonderful scent.

Liam shrugged. “Lost my key, mate.” He got up, walking into the kitchen. Louis let him, instead picking at the flowers.

There were a dozen, beautiful white roses mixed in with about twice as many golden ones. In the center of the large bouquet was a single, red rose, fully blossomed and absolutely breathtaking. Louis reached for it, twirling it lightly between his two forefingers.

“Hey Lou? Did you call for takeout from Rosso?” Liam came back in with two glasses of water balanced in one hand and the container in the other.

Louis jumped at the sound of Liam’s voice, pricking his thumb on a thorn from the rose. “Fuck.” He leaned over the sofa, reaching for a tissue. He looked up at Liam. “No, why’d you ask?” He wiped at the blood already pearling up on the pad of his thumb. He threw the now-stained tissue away in the basket at his feet, quickly looking over the flowers in the bouquet, on his lap. None of them had thorns; none other than the red one.

Liam waited for Louis to look up in order to answer. “Well, the box is takeout. From Rosso.”

Louis frowned, putting down the roses in order to pick up the container from Liam’s hand, along with the glass of water he was handing him. It was definitely from Rosso, and there was obviously enough food in there for two. “Who’s this from, then?” Louis asked in a silent whisper.

Liam didn’t answer. Instead, he took a sip of his water.

Louis took back the roses, getting up to fetch a vase. He picked out his favourite one, carefully arranging the flowers in it. He poured in the water and smiled as he picked them back up. That was, until a small red card fell from them. He put the flowers back down on the countertop, bending down to reach for the folded over piece of paper.

He hesitated before opening it, but ended up doing so anyways.

Maybe he shouldn’t have. Actually, he probably shouldn’t have; but he did. And part of him was actually glad that he had.

He recognised the handwriting first, even before he had time to process the six words inked into the card.

_I’ll make it up to you. H._

He felt a smile grow on his face, even without his accord. “That dick!” he shouted. How dare Harry try to re-enter his life the day Louis was having a green time? How _selfish_ could he possibly be? This was not fair to Louis.

Still, Louis was smiling, and he was smiling as he walked back into the living room, clutching desperately onto the piece of paper with his two hands, and he would be smiling as he fell asleep. But right now, through that smile, Louis was angry, and lost, and confused.

How could Harry still claim to want him in these short words, when he’d thrown him away in the first place?

Liam got up cautiously, approaching Louis carefully. “Is everything okay, Lou?” he asked.

Louis looked over his shoulder towards the open kitchen, spotting the colourful roses. Was everything okay? Probably not. Instead he shrugged, like a small child would when he felt threatened.

“What happened?” Liam prodded.

Instead of directly answering, Louis held the note out for Liam to read. Liam reached for it, not letting his gaze drop from Louis’s eyes. “Read it.”

So Liam did. And he reread it. Probably once again, afterwards, too. Louis could actually feel the confusion pouring out of Liam’s features. Louis walked off, going to grab the flowers before coming back. He liked the flowers, he decided. He wanted them with him. “I don’t understand,” Liam finally said after half a dozen minutes of silence.

Louis’s mouth fell open, lacking words to explain all of this. All of it. Liam didn’t know anything, really, did he? And as much as Louis hated Harry right now, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the other boys about his cheating, because no matter what happened, he was still his Harry. And no matter how much Louis wished it could be false, he still loved Harry.

So instead of actually answering, Louis closed his mouth, his features hardening. There was really nothing to say.

He was quite thankful when Liam understood this. “Did Harry send this?” he asked quietly. Louis nodded. “All of it?”

Louis nodded once again. “The flowers, the takeout, the stupid fucking card.” His words were clipped and his voice had an edge to it, but that was fine. Everything was fine, right?

Liam nodded, and Louis could see his brain working as he thought over how to phrase his next sentence. It was Liam’s turn to have his mouth falling open, but he closed it promptly. Liam tried to figure out what to ask and Louis tried to think of what he could answer with. Eventually, Louis realised that he wouldn’t forever be able to keep the motives behind his and Harry’s breakup a secret.

“Harry called me this morning,” Liam quietly informed Louis, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Now it was Louis’s turn not to understand, although because of Harry, he often felt like it was his turn. “What?” It was the only thing he managed to come up with.

Liam nodded. “He said you’d gone over to his place, well I guess your place too, not too long go.”

Louis tried to remember what Harry could’ve been referring to by saying that, and he vaguely remembered having had a drunken argument with Harry. “Yeah.” He remembered having woken up with a hell of a headache. “Yeah, I think that might’ve happened.” He remembered having regretted staying over for the night. “It definitely happened.”

Liam looked really apologetic. “He said you’d forgotten your jacket there.”

Once again, he waited for Louis’s confirmation. Louis racked his brain, trying to think of which jacket that could’ve been. Possibly the jeans one. He hadn’t seen it much recently. Or at all, really. Louis zoned back into the conversation he was having with Liam at the present time, making a mental note of checking to see which jacket was missing.

He nodded at his friend.

“He also mentioned having agreed with you that he could come ‘round and leave it by you.”

Louis frowned at this, but didn’t interrupt Liam.

“But he said that you’d hung up too quickly, and he hadn’t had time to ask for your address. I wasn’t sure at first if he wasn’t just trying to get you to agree to go out with him, especially when he asked whether or not you would be busy tonight, but he convinced me that he wasn’t planning on that. I guess I shouldn’t have given him your flat’s address, after all.”

Louis shook his head. “S’not your fault. You couldn’t have known any better.” He had to hand it to Harry though; it mustn’t have been easy to convince Liam. Especially considering how the fact that Liam didn’t know what actually broke the pair apart would just make him more suspicious of Harry.

“I still should’ve,” Liam tried to argue, but Louis shut him up rather quickly.

“No, Liam, listen to me. You did what you thought would be best, considering how you don’t know everything that’s going on between Harry and me. I don’t blame you, it’s just…” He drifted off. His gaze fell down to the red note that Liam was still holding between his hands. “That _dickhead_.” But no, that didn’t sound right at all. He corrected himself, “That stupid, sweet, dickhead.” He smiled; that was better.

Liam smiled, but it seemed pained and forced. “I’m still sorry.”

Louis nodded. There wasn’t much he could do.

A few hours later, when Liam was gone, Louis found himself sitting down by the foot of his bed. Clutching firmly onto the red note in one hand and holding the red thorn rose in the other, he wanted to try and make up his mind about how he was feeling.

There was a part of him that wanted so badly to hate Harry. He might have been very far away from his goal of no longer caring about him, but he was trying equally as hard to eventually get there. He wouldn’t be able to ever do that if Harry didn’t let go of him.

But then there was a part of him that wanted so badly for him to just let Harry back in. And the problem was that he didn’t know how big or how important that part of him was, but he did know that he sometimes wanted nothing more than to run back to Harry and just say that everything was forgiven and forgotten.

The thing about that idea was that, although he really wanted to “forgive and forget,” he knew that it just wasn’t possible. That wasn’t how things happened in real life.

Perhaps that if his life were a part of a - rather sad - movie, he would be down for a few months. But then, he would move away, get a new job, anything, but he would get a fresh start, somewhere new. And usually, at that point, he would be ready to start being friends with Harry again. In movies, Harry would be sweet and caring. Louis would eventually forgive him, and forget his mistakes. Plural to mistakes.

But for this Louis, the one that lived near London, he couldn’t get a fresh start; he had to see Harry almost every day when they had work as a band. Even when they had days off, like they had recently had, he would hear about Harry through the media; television, radio, even newsstands. Louis couldn’t escape anymore, he would be found no matter where he tried to run to. It didn’t even matter that he didn’t have time to get over the breakup; he knew it would forever be impossible for him to forget how Harry had betrayed him. There was no magic switch for Louis to activate in order to make himself feel okay. No matter how sweet and caring Harry was, Louis had to deal with him, and he couldn’t just _forget_.

Louis was still irrevocably in love with Harry. He couldn’t deny that, and he certainly couldn’t ignore it; the last time he’d tried to, it had mostly led to him having a lot of black days.

Maybe he could just try to let Harry figure this one out. Louis had had to do so much on his own; it was only fair to let Harry take care of this one. Just wait and see what Harry did, see where it would lead them.

Louis brushed his thumb pad lightly against one of the sharp thorns from the red rose.

The yellow roses symbolised forgiveness. They meant that Harry would do anything - that he would beg - in order to obtain Louis’s forgiveness.

The white roses represented hope, honesty and peace. They were values that Harry wanted to treasure.

Louis applied a light pressure against the thorn.

The single, red rose was love. This much was obvious, but what had taken Louis longer to realise was what the significance of the thorns was. And also, why there were so many more yellow and white roses, almost drowning out the red rose. Louis had eventually understood, though. He smiled.

The roses held Harry’s promise; he would make this work.

So Louis decided to make a promise of his own; he would not forget what Harry did.

As the following week went by, Harry kept his word. He was helpful in subtle and sweet ways to Louis: he would hold the door open for him, he would smile at Louis’s intention, and he would let him cut in front of him in lines. Just subtle actions that were closer to a friendship than they were to a relationship between two lovers. And Louis, on his part, didn’t forget his promise, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! xx


	12. XII

Louis paced up and down his small bedroom, too small for him to have the proper space he wished he had in order to truly sort himself out. It wasn’t really pacing if he had to turn back around after every half a dozen steps. He was nervous, biting down on his lip as millions of thoughts raced through his brain, each less coherent than the last.

During this past week, which had been bearable in itself, he’d started to seriously consider letting the boys in on what had happened between him and Harry. He’d been debating the pros and cons of doing that, and even though it’d been clouding his mind during pretty much every waking hour he had, sometimes even when he was sleeping, but he had yet to manage to figure it out.

On one hand, he felt like he owed it to the boys; they’d been so immensely patient with him, never asking anything out of line - although Louis wasn’t all that sure what _would_ be considered “out of line”. They’d only nodded, sometimes with pursed lips, but they hadn’t pushed it, always respecting his self-imposed limits. And now, he simply felt like it wouldn’t be right to ask of anything more without giving a little, because God knew he wasn’t done needing them.

On the other hand, he knew that this would put Harry in a new light to them. They most likely wouldn’t consider him as a victim in this whole affair, but probably more as the culprit. It didn’t mean anything to Louis that Harry actually _was_ to blame; it was still Harry, and he couldn’t help but try to protect him, even when he should be protecting himself instead. Still, he was the one who was truly entitled to being hurt, to being angry, and although it would feel nice to have other people in on this whole thing, it wouldn’t necessarily feel _right_ to him.

He stopped his pacing, catching a glimpse of his reflexion in the cracked mirror in front of his bed.

He could see himself, but not really. Not entirely, at least. He didn’t feel as though he was really looking at _Louis_. The Louis he’d known had been a strong boy; he had been happy and he had been Harry’s. He wasn’t this tired looking man, eyes sad and almost lifeless. The man standing in the mirror wasn’t him.

But it was. _This_ was him, and this was Harry’s doing.

He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he tried to concentrate on something else. Anything, honestly, but he couldn’t think of this.

He went back to his earlier train of thoughts, running a shaky hand through the strands of hair covering his forehead. He didn’t really owe Harry anything, did he?

He sat down on his bed, hearing the stiff mattress beneath him screech out in protest. He’d never manage to get over Harry if he kept on protecting him. He was still acting somewhat the same as when they had been dating, except that now, he didn’t get to feel warm arms holding onto him as he fell asleep. Obviously, he used to be closer to Harry, and he’d tried to maintain a certain distance from the boy since the breakup. He wasn’t being consistent.

He wanted to get over Harry, but he also wanted to protect him. He should just get over him, right?

He shook his head, fingers digging into the dip of skin right above his hips. God, what had Harry done to him?

He took a deep steadying breath as he let himself fall down on the bed, almost jumping up when he heard the loud ringing of his phone. He sat back up, pulling it out from where it had slipped beneath him. Frowning as he recognised the name on the screen, he answered.

“Hello?” he asked wearily; maybe he should have ignored the call.

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Hi, Louis.”

He waited to see what would happen, but when nothing happened he spoke up. “Look, Mrs. Twist, I really don’t think this is the best idea.” Louis had no way to know if Harry had told her what had happened between them, and although he loved Anne, he didn’t think he had the strenght to really talk about it; not again, not now.

He heard a soft but sad laugh come through the receiver, before she spoke up. “You haven’t called me by my last name in a really long time.” Her laughter died down. “You can still call me Anne, you know. You broke up with my son, you didn’t break up with me.”

Louis nodded, barely mumbling out an “okay.” He drummed his fingers on his lap, trying to relax from his stiff position. He didn’t used to feel this uncomfortable around Anne, but sometimes thing changed.

“How are you, Louis?” she softly asked.

This made him laugh, but he tried to catch himself. “Lately, or in general?”

“Is there much difference?”

And there really wasn’t. He took a moment to formulate his thoughts into actual words, not finding anything quite appropriate enough to say, so he settled on, “Shitty, but not as shitty as I could be, I guess.”

He could actually picture her nodding, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Louis shrugged. “Not much that we can do about it, honestly.”

But Anne cut him off. “I’m not talking about how you’ve been feeling, not directly, anyways.” Louis held his breath, fearing what would come. “I’m sorry for how Harry acted.” And as she said it, Louis realised that it was out in the open, spread out for everyone to see. Anne knew. She knew Harry had cheated, and she knew Louis had been broken in the process.

Louis shook his head, trying to chase away the tears he could already feel appearing. “It’s not your fault,” he mumbled through a fading voice.

“I know, but is there really something else that would be appropriate to say?”

Louis shrugged. Not really.

“I know that it probably isn’t the right time for this, but I figured that there would most likely never be a proper time, anyways. I want to talk about it, Louis.” She paused. “He told me his side of the story, but I need to know how you’re dealing. Harry’s my son and I obviously can’t help but feel bad for him if he’s been feeling under the weather or just down in general, but _you’re_ the one who’s actually entitled to compassion. Even if it’s from the boy-who-broke-your-heart’s mother”

Louis lifted his legs up, the soles of his feet hitting the mattress, his arms wrapping around them, hugging them to his chest. His body curled up in a ball, he answered. “Okay.” He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm his racing heart. When he finally felt like he wouldn’t explode from the pressure if he tried to speak, he let the carefully measured words he’d been thinking over fall through his lips. “Do I have to go over the breakup again?”

There was a brief silence, making Louis uncomfortable once more. He shifted on the bed, making it screech out in anger again. “Do you want to?”

“Not really,” he shook his head vigorously, like a five year old child refusing a punishment.

“Then you don’t have to, no.” She stopped, but not for long. “I trust that Harry did a fairly good job of telling me what happened, and without sugar coating it.”

Louis nodded; he did too. “Then I’ll tell you what I can.” He sighed, holding on tighter to himself, almost holding himself together. A few minutes passed by in complete silence, the only disturbance being the ticking of the clock hand on the wall. Louis could barely hear Anne’s breathing over the line, and if he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought she’d hung up on him.

But she was still there, waiting, patiently.

“I felt empty,” he finally said, his voice rough and barely present. He blinked back a few tears, battling to keep them at bay. “Harry hadn’t needed to say anything for me to understand. It was in the way his lips were but a thin line on his face. It was in the way he couldn’t meet my eyes, and how when he finally did, I could actually feel the disappointment veiling them.” He paused. He could remember Harry perfectly in his mind, that image of him forever printed out in the black behind his eyelids. “I knew he wasn’t disappointed in anyone else, only himself, and I think that made it worse, really. For him, I mean. He couldn’t be angry at anyone, he had no outlet for his disappointment, because this was no one else’s fault; only his. He couldn’t even blame Nick, because Nick wasn’t the one who’d promised a forever with me.” Louis laughed. He still found it funny how “forever” had had an expiry date. “Obviously, that didn’t keep me from being beyond _pissed_ at Nick. It was easier for me to be mad at him than it was to be mad at Harry. Love’s something that’s rather hard to transform into hate. Of course, I’m not saying that there aren’t times when I’m completely furious towards Harry. But I know it won’t last, not forever.

“He tried explaining what he’d done, but I can’t quite recall anything other than how his hands had been shaking. He hadn’t toyed with his fingers or anything, his arms were just hanging at his side. I can also remember noticing the ring on his finger, the engagement one.” He suspected that Harry would have let his mother in on the whole engagement. It only made sense, so he didn’t worry too much about telling her. “I’d stopped wearing mine a few days after it had become official, management probably mentioning something about ‘trying not to create unnecessary drama for the fans’. Harry had stopped wearing his ‘round the same time as I had, truthfully, so I just couldn’t understand why the ring was back. I made it feel like it didn’t really mean anything anymore to him. Why would he even wear a promise he’d broken, it seemed like he was almost proud of it.”

He waited, almost hoping Anne would have an answer to give him, but obviously, she didn’t. No one did.

Louis laughed, and he could imagine the broken look on Anne’s face as she was listening to him. “It’s really funny how I don’t remember much from that night. I don’t remember what Harry said, or what I said. I know how he looked, and I know that I ran out. Clearly I did, I’ve still not returned to the house, not permanently anyways.

“It broke my heart... no, it broke _me_ , and yet I don’t think I really felt anything when he told he cheated.” He spat out the word like it was poison, and it was. It hurt to say it, it hurt to think it, it _hurt_. “I think that at first, it was like it wasn’t even real. I was expecting him to tell me that it was a joke, I think. But he didn’t, and really, I guess I’m still here, waiting, aren’t I?” His voice had died out towards the end, mostly a slow whisper. “We’re over now.”

He let go of what remained of his breath, crumbling in on himself. He ended up curled on his side in a loose ball, laying on the bed. Tear tracks were racing down his face to his chin, and he could taste a few on the tip of his tongue. He was done talking. He’d done so much talking lately, not just to Anne, but trying to partly explain this to the boys, arguing with Harry, arguing with himself. Louis was just exhausted now.

And Anne seemed to understand. Louis figured that if he were able to see her right now, she would look thoughtful. She’d be going over everything he’d just said, possibly trying to fit his words into the cracks that Harry had left wide open when he’d recounted the breakup to her.

It took a long while for either of them to talk again. Louis felt perfectly content with simply listening to their mingling breaths over the phone, melding perfectly with the clock from the room. Obviously, eventually they’d have to choose whether to end the conversation or keep it going.

Anne took this decision for him. “Louis?”

He hummed as a response.

“Can I ask you something?”

More humming. This didn’t seem as a sufficient enough answer for Harry’s mom to keep talking, though, so after a few moments, Louis uttered a simple “yes.”

He could hear her trying to figure out how to word whatever it was she needed to ask him, so he let her take her time. He wasn’t really to right person to tell her to hurry up, as he already took up far longer than it was needed to decide upon the easiest of things. Finally, “Do you -. Do you still love my boy?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it? But everyone already knew the answer. Louis sure did, although it never got easy to say, not even after all the time and practice he’d had. But he gathered whatever courage he must have left - and if there was one thing Louis had, it was courage, especially after all that he’d been through - and mumbled the words, softly at first, then louder. “Yes.” Inhale. “I hate myself for this, Anne, but goddamn it, I do.” Exhale. He almost laughed, but really, nothing was funny when he truly thought about it.

He heard Anne’s thoughtful humming. Louis thought the discussion must _finally_ be over, but he was proved wrong with what happened next. “You know I’m Harry’s mum, which means that I’ll always love him unconditionally.” And Louis laughed this time, and for once it was earnest. “ _But_ ,” she kept going, “that doesn’t mean that you have to.”

Louis almost wanted to say that _yes, that was exactly what he felt for Harry_. Unconditional love. He kept quiet instead.

“So Louis, when I say this, know that I mean it.” She paused, almost for effect, but it was clearly more of an attempt to let Louis fully understand what she would say next. “Give him Hell.”

Louis gaped, at a loss for words. “What?” he managed to utter.

“He didn’t make this easy on you. Don’t go easy on him, please.”

Now if that wasn’t a blessing, he really had no idea what would ever be.

Louis knew he’d assured her that he wouldn’t go easy on Harry, after having managed to regain whatever composure he had had. How could he let Harry off the hook easily, if at all? He didn’t know much else of what happened, but he knew that the conversation had drifted off past that point. Soon enough, he’d hung up, alone with the lingering thought that something had been left unsaid.

A lot of things had been left unsaid in the past few months, so much so that there was almost a sort of taboo surrounding parts of Louis’s brain.

He drifted through the rest of the day, unsure whether he was really living it or if it was actually someone else controlling his body. How could it possibly be he who had turned the telly on - which Liam had finally decided to pay for a few weeks back when he’d claimed it would take Louis’s mind off of things. It didn’t actually take his mind off of anything, but it sure felt good to laugh at all the shit going through everyone else’s life.

He knew he’d, at some point or another during the night, picked up his phone. He’d skimmed through his past messages, obviously ignoring management’s texts. Nothing really stood out to him, not up until he’d reached the Twitter messages. The most recent was the one he’d sent to Harry’s intention.

His finger lingered over the delete button on his phone, not quite ready to let go of that one. He didn’t know why he couldn’t do it, but he just couldn’t.

So instead of facing it, he stood up, walking back towards his closet and throwing all his jackets on the bed. He looked through them, trying to figure out which one he’d ended up leaving at Harry’s. It took him the best part of the two following hours, but he wasn’t known for being good at managing his time in general, so all in all, this was all good.

He was missing the jeans one, as he’d previously thought, and before he could even ponder it at all, he picked up his phone. Unlocking the screen to be met with the sight of the unclosed Twitter messages, he started typing off, pressing send as soon as he was done.

_@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles so can i have my jacket back mate?_

There was no doubt in his mind as he threw his phone to the other side of the room, almost like it had bit him, that management would not be pleased. Actually, that was possibly an understatement

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is rather short and I don't like how it came out but I didn't have enough time to change it up. I cut off the ending because otherwise it wouldn't have been up in time, so next chapter should be a bit longer.
> 
> Also, I have to let you all know that I won't be able to update next Friday, but I'll try for the following. I won't be able to get WiFi for over a week, and I apologise. 
> 
> I still hope you like this and see you soon!


	13. XIII

“You’re either stupider than what I thought was humanly possible, or you’re smarter than I could ever imagine you being, and right now, I don’t know which one to hope for.”

These were the words that woke Louis up. Zayn’s voice had pierced through the comfortable bubble Louis had been resting in, surrounded by fog and hidden away beneath a layer of dreamless sleep. Dreamless sleep was good, albeit rare.

Louis opened his eyes to see Zayn, the distant sunlight haloing his shape, a golden mist hugging his form, contrasting beautifully with his face, which was still left in the dark. Zayn stood there immobile for a few minutes, his expression unreadable from where Louis lay.

Louis shuffled around in his confining bed, his legs wrapped up in the sheets, his body contorting as he tried to extricate himself from them. While he had felt free in his sleep, undisturbed by any unpleasant thoughts or memories, he felt trapped now that he had woken up. Nowhere to go, no place to escape his reality.

He finally managed to stand up, unsteady on his feet. He swayed dangerously on his feet, coming frighteningly close to falling to the floor. Zayn came into motion, instantly at Louis’s side, a hand on his hip and one on his shoulder, trying to help him regain his balance. Louis heard him mutter something under his breath that rhymed with “duck.”

It took Louis the best part of a minute to get his body to stop swaying, although that wasn’t to say it stripped away the dizziness that was overtaking his mind. He counted to three, gesturing to Zayn that he could let go. Zayn seemed unsure as to whether he should really let go, but he eventually conceded, taking a few steps back.

“You okay?” he asked Louis, his expression still unreadable, eyes guarded.

Louis nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak. As it was, he already had enough on his mind with just trying to chase his light-headedness away. When Zayn seemed unconvinced, he nodded again, more firmly this time.

Zayn seemed to weigh his options, unsure as to if he should speak his mind or not. He ended up letting free reign to his thoughts, although his voice remained uncertain. “How much did you have to drink yesterday, Lou?”

Louis shook his head, jaw tightening. He took a few cold breaths before speaking up through clenched teeth, his voice coming out as a sharp hiss. “I didn’t have anything.”

Zayn’s eyes grew wide, and it would have almost been comical if Louis’s attention hadn’t all been concentrated on making the intense pounding in his head go down. After standing there for countless minutes without the least change whatsoever, he swore.

Zayn took Louis’s hand into his, gently pulling him along behind him and steering him towards the living room. He sat him down on the worn out couch, fingers lingering near his shoulders before finally disappearing. Louis looked up to see that Zayn was heading back towards his bedroom, and no more than five minutes, he returned with three bottles of pills and a glass of water. He opened the first and plopped two white tablets into Louis’s lap, and Louis gladly swallowed them along with a large portion of the water.

“Thanks,” he silently muttered as Zayn took his seat beside him, their legs lining up next to each other. Zayn put the bottles down on the floor and sat back up, his eyes taking in Louis’s appearance. There was no doubt in Louis’s mind that he looked like complete and utter crap, his hair most likely flattened down with filth and his eyes probably still sunken out into his face, even after a relatively good night of sleep.

He spent the following ten minutes under Zayn’s scrutinising glare. It took the best part of that time, but Louis’s headache finally went down, and eventually, his dizziness, too, disappeared. When that happened, Louis let himself sink back into Zayn’s side, letting out a drawn-out sigh. He curled up next to him, shivering.

“I haven’t gotten properly pissed in, I think, at least a week. Feels longer than that though,” Louis silently conceded. He couldn’t say he was particularly proud of himself for letting things in his life get this bad, allowing them to control him. At what point had he replaced the warmth and comfort provided by Harry with a long-necked bottle of whichever alcohol he could put his hand on first?

Zayn pulled away enough to be able to look Louis in the eye. “So you’re definitely not drunk then.” When Louis shook his head to confirm Zayn’s words, Zayn seemed to briefly go over his next question. “Then is this withdrawal?” he asked, his face contorting up into a grimace similar to one he might make if he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

Louis mimicked the grimace, looking away and shrinking further into himself, although Zayn hadn’t thought it would be possible with how Louis was already plastered into him. “No.” His voice was a tight squeak, and he seemed to be completely terrified by the mere possibility of experiencing withdrawal. It couldn’t be.

“Then why did you seem like you were going to faint on me?” Zayn gently prodded, wrapping his arms around Louis tightly and pulling him to his body.

Louis thought about it. He wasn’t drunk, nor was he experiencing withdrawal. It had to be something else.

He let himself breathe in Zayn’s warm embrace. He rarely let people get this close to him, but then again, Zayn wasn’t just _people_. He was a brother to him.

Louis thought about an explanation to what had been going on when he woke up. He’d been having headaches that lasted from the time he opened his eyes to the time he went back to bed fairly often recently, and he was always tired. He hadn’t been crying as often as of late, but that wasn’t to say he was feeling any better. His hypothesis about that - because he had actually put some thought into this, one night when he had been feeling remarkably bored - was that he had just gotten used to the feeling of being _abandoned_ by Harry. Then again, that meant that everything he wasn’t letting out was just piling up inside him, a growing mountain of pent up frustrations. It would certainly be very stressful for Louis to carry around all that inside him for months.

It made sense.

First, he spoke up in an almost nonexistent voice, even to his ears. Then, he repeated himself louder, so that Zayn would understand him this time around. “Stress.” It was a simple word, but it was also the answer to everything recently.

Zayn nodded into Louis’s hair.

They sat like that for a while, much longer than what Louis could keep track of. At some point he ended up lying partly on top of Zayn, and it was oddly comfortable to Louis. He felt safe and protected, like maybe someone else would be able to take care of his heart in his place him, for once. He was so fed up with having to protect his heart like an unofficial guard dog. He was never sure how far his leach extended; how far he could push people away. He was never sure how hard he would have to bite; how much he could hurt someone he felt threatened by. Maybe he would let Zayn take over for a little while and he could simply sit back and watch.

He sniffed loudly, a shaky smile taking over his face. How wonderful would it be to finally have a break from trying to keep his fissure-covered heart from shattering?

“Hey Zayn?” Louis weakly asked after an eternity, finally going back to thinking about how he’d been woken up.

Zayn hummed, his fingers drawing shapeless forms into Louis’s skin. It felt good. Louis’s smile intensified slightly.

“Why was I an idiot?” Then, a bubble of laugh escaping his lips as he remembered exactly what Zayn had said, he continued talking. “Because I’m sure as hell no genius.”

Zayn laughed along with Louis, ruffling his hair with the hand that wasn’t claiming Louis’s skin as a canvas for his newest abstract masterpiece. “Because of your tweet to Harry, you git. Management was absolutely furious last time I checked, pulling out their best armour to jump headfirst into damage control.” He had tried to turn it into a joke, so Louis forced out another small laugh, but he fully well knew that Zayn was being entirely serious.

“I hadn’t thought it would be that big of a deal,” Louis mumbled half-heartedly.

Zayn nudged him playfully, but it was easy for Louis to understand that he was being easy on him. Way too easy on him. “Oh, come on. That is such a lie.” Zayn’s expression turned humourless at this point, all playfulness gone. “It’s been well over a year since either of you tweeted each other, but all of a sudden you act amicable towards him on Twitter?” He took a second to think through his following statement, his arms tightening around Louis before loosening up a bit. “Plus, if you think that your other tweet you’d indirectly send to Harry, the one about how he’d ‘ _better work bitch_ ,’ flew under management’s radar, then you’re fooling yourself, Louis. They let it slide only because it hadn’t been so obvious, and they absolutely didn’t think you’d be _stupid_ enough to try again.” He shook his head, arms pulling Louis in tighter against his front.

Louis was lying fully on Zayn at this point, their limbs interlinked, Louis lifting and falling back down with each breath Zayn took. “How much shit am I in?” he asked weakly, curling up into Zayn. He had no idea how they’d manage to make this stiff couch work as a bed, but they had.

Zayn shrugged noncommittally. “Enough.”

Louis took in a deep breath. That wasn’t good. “What about the fans?”

Zayn laughed, shuffling around beneath Louis. “They’re having a field day. They blew up all the social media sites. It doesn’t help that some of them caught on to the indirect you sent Harry earlier on.”

Louis tried to calm his heart beat down, but that was near impossible, what with the next question on the tip of his tongue. “How’s Harry?” he asked wearily, clearly unsure as to whether or not it was smart to ask this. He knew it wasn’t.

Zayn took his time, carefully choosing his words before letting them slip off his tongue. “Management’s got him on lockdown.” He paused, letting a few minutes run by before going on. “It’s a fucking miracle they haven’t found you yet, in my opinion. I actually came here with the intent of warning you that they’d most probably get to you too, and soon.” He looked over his shoulder, almost as if he were expecting someone to show up. “Seriously, though, they were really pissed. They were talking about possibly taking away your Twitter - can they even do that? - and have you go out on a good half a dozen dates with Eleanor in the next fortnight, possibly even send you off on a vacation.” He looked at Louis, as if to gauge his reaction, but got none.

“I don’t care,” Louis said, and this was the first time he sounded so sure of himself today. Actually, it was probably the first time he sounded so sure of himself in weeks, possibly months.

Zayn sat up, managing to meet Louis’s eyes despite their awkward position, searching them for something that wasn’t there, not anymore, anyways. “What?” he asked almost shyly.

“I don’t care,” Louis repeated, his voice shaking only slightly on the last word, but not enough for it to matter. “It doesn’t bother me that management’s pissed, for all I care, they can go fuck themselves.” He laughed a sorrowful sound that ripped at Zayn’s insides. “Quite literally, too. They seem to be so strongly against anything that could be considered as slightly homosexual, it might be fun for them to try out gay sex. You know, see how we do it.” Then thinking it through, he added. “Hell, it might finally take that stick out from where it’s been shoved so high up their arses, don’t you think?”

Zayn actually laughed at this, raising his hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sound. It took him a few fair minutes, but he eventually managed to quiet down. He hadn’t heard Louis talk this freely in what seemed like forever, and it felt good to see him finally speaking his mind. He’d seemed so worried about what he allowed himself to say lately, always second guessing himself and hoping he never crossed a line. He must have finally understood that lines didn’t exist in the reality of things. They were at most blurry guidelines, moving along with the flow of things, vaguely delimiting areas of danger. But wherever there was a “Do not cross” sign, there would always be one idiot to pretend he hadn’t seen it.

Zayn looked at Louis, his gaze making the hair on Louis’s arms stand on edge. At first he tried to ignore how he was being looked at, but when one minute turned into ten and Zayn didn’t let up, Louis started to stiffen. He slowly turned around, inch by inch, and when his eyes finally met with Zayn’s, he wasn’t expecting the look Zayn was giving him.

His hazelnut eyes held a mix of sadness, confusion, and anger, but Louis knew that the latter wasn’t directed to him. He didn’t know why he knew that, but he did. Louis tried to search Zayn’s eyes for an answer, an explanation as to why Zayn was looking at him that way.

He didn’t get any answer, not from his eyes, at least.

“I was there, you know,” Zayn gently spoke up, as if singing a lullaby to a baby.

He didn’t know why, but those five words made Louis’s throat tighten up, making it hard to breathe. He pulled away a bit from the warm cocoon he had been stuck in, putting a bit of distance between the two of them, before asking what Zayn meant.

Zayn cleared his throat, possibly buying time. “When you and Harry fought.” Seeing Louis’s confused expression, Zayn continued. “You’d run out of my house, and he’d followed you out to the driveway. You had both had a yelling match. I heard some of what you said; although there were things I didn’t manage to catch. And then, well, you full out snogged on the car.”

Louis’s eyes grew wide. Zayn was referring to when he’d found out that Harry had told Zayn about their engagement, and he’d chosen to run away from it. He cringed, remembering everything they’d shouted to one another.

Zayn tried to close the distance between his and Louis’s body, but Louis stumbled to his feet, backing away from him. He wasn’t ready to let anyone else in on the reason behind his and Harry’s breakup. He hadn’t chosen for this to happen, Hell, he didn’t _want_ this to happen. But it was already happening, and all he could really do to keep from crumbling down was to stare at Zayn, waiting in dread for when he’d decide to elaborate.

Zayn didn’t try to get closer to Louis this time when he spoke up. “Don’t worry, none of the other boys overheard you.” He kept still.

Louis looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, frozen to his spot. “What did you overhear?” he carefully asked, trying not to fold in on himself. He really wanted to throw up.

Zayn huffed out a long breath, and Louis caught on to how his fingers twitched, yearning for a cigarette. He wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t mind his smoking inside, that he might actually join in and have a ciggy too, but his lips stayed sealed shut, his voice gone. “I heard about how -” Zayn paused, searching for permission to say the following line. When Louis nodded, he took in a long, encouraging breath and resumed his story. “I heard about how he cheated on you.” Louis swore aloud, cringing back as if he’d been physically stricken. “I’m not saying I’ll be taking sides in this, because it isn’t my fight. And I know that there are things I’m not aware of, of course I do. So I’m not going to tell you what to do, pretending I know what’s best, either. Honestly, I don’t have a clue what you should do.” He took a step towards Louis, and this time, Louis didn’t back away. “But I am able to see when my friend needs me, and this is one of those times. So tell me, how are you, Louis? And _please_ don’t lie.”

Louis eyed Zayn carefully. He was the first to not give him any piece of advice concerning what he should do, even after he’d found out about the cheating. He sighed, still not breaching the distance between him and Zayn, but somewhat relaxing. “I’m tired. And stressed out.”

Zayn took a careful step forward, extending his hand, but Louis didn’t move to grasp it, so he lowered it.

“It’s just - I constantly feel like I’m trapped, like a cornered animal. No matter what I do or where I look, there’s always someone to judge me, always someone to remind me that what I’m doing _isn’t good enough_. It’s not even about Harry anymore, I don’t think. It’s just, I feel like I’m drowning, but I don’t have anywhere to swim to.”

Zayn nodded, closing the distance between them, but not touching Louis yet.

“I just need some space,” Louis conceded, voice sounding deflated. “But I can’t find any.”

Once again, Zayn nodded. “When’s the last time you’ve left this flat?” he asked. When he didn’t get an answer, he lifted his hand to Louis’s shoulder, leaving it there as a comforting presence.

“I don’t know,” Louis allowed.

“You have to get out of here; this isn’t healthy for you, Lou.”

Louis met Zayn’s careful eyes, swimming in them. “But I don’t have anywhere to go!” he yelled. “I’m trapped, I can’t get out! I want to get out!”

After a few minutes of silence, Zayn said something that surprised both him and Louis. “Then you’ve got to _make_ some space for yourself.”

And that’s how Louis ended up with his suitcase in hand, the same one he still hadn’t unpacked from when he’d wanted to escape a few weeks back, standing at the front door of his flat, two hours later. He’d given Zayn all the information as to where he’d be going, and had made him promise not to tell anyone else about this. He’d make some space for himself.

And since he couldn’t do that if he was in the same city, or even the same _country_ as Harry, well, he’d just have to go a bit farther away than his mum’s house this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm late for this but I hope that you won't hold it against me :P Honestly, at the beginning of the week I didn't even think I'd manage to get this out _this week_ so it's good that I did.
> 
> This was originally the ending for 12, but as you can see it's a _bit_ too long that it wouldn't have fit in the chapter. I was then planning on combining this with 13, but it turned out to be long enough to stand as a chapter on its own.
> 
>  
> 
> Hopefully you'll enjoy this. I'm really looking forward to going back to regurlar updates!
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and I've forgotten to do this, but thank you so much to everyone who leaves kudos and comments, or just simply for reading! You make me really love doing this!


	14. XIV

There wasn’t much to be said before he left.

Louis couldn’t exactly warn too many people of his imminent departure, seeing as if he did, they would most likely try to keep him grounded where he already was, and he just couldn’t let that happen. There was no heartwarming moment either; he’d be back soon enough, both he and Zayn knew that. But for now, he just needed to do this.

Zayn hadn’t driven him to the airport, as per Louis’s request. His reason actually made a lot of sense, although Zayn had still been quite reticent to admit so much: as hard as it already would be to try to sneak one member of One Direction out of the country without attracting any attention, it would be made nearly impossible if Zayn were to tag along.

“Yes, I do see your point, Louis, but maybe if I’m there, I could distract enough people for them not to notice your leaving,” Zayn had tried to argue, although at this point in the discussion, he already knew he was leading a losing battle.

Louis had snarled a friendly mocking sneaking into his tone. “Yes, I can see the headlines now!” He had gestured grandly as he spoke, increasing the frown between Zayn’s eyebrows. “Zayn Malik takes unplanned tour of airport!” He had shaken his head. “But seriously Zayn, they’re going to think you’re nuts if they don’t figure out you’re accompanying someone. You can’t just in and out the airport without either arising rumours that you’re hiding someone or that you were planning to leave.”

He had visibly deflated, his eyes conveying that he knew he’d lost this battle.

Honestly, Louis didn't need to be protected anymore, and he'd told Zayn as much, although he did appreciate the concern. He'd spent enough time sheltered away from prying eyes, and now, what he needed was to rediscover how to be healthy on his own.

That's how he had managed to end up in an overcrowded airport alone, trying to find himself a ticket to the soonest flight headed to Los Angeles. He was covered from head to toes, his coat zipped up to his nose, and his hood pulled over his head and sunglasses hiding his eyes from everyone else. He had gloves on to make sure none of his tattoos would give him away, and he tried to keep his head down, shying away from any kind of attention, and honestly, he was dying of heat.

As he spoke, he tried to force his voice to take on a lower pitch, straining his throat. His hands shook by his side. “Do you have anything for Los Angeles in the next few hours?”

The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with minimal makeup on, typed decidedly on her keyboard for a few seconds, eyebrows brought together in thought as she studied the dim computer screen before her. “I think so.” She leaned forward a bit, her face about a foot away from the screen. She kept clicking on her mouse for a minute or so, and Louis nervously shifted from one foot to the other. He looked around him in fear of being recognised. Finally, the woman spoke up again. “Yes, I do have a few tickets for a flight leaving in just over an hour.” She shot him a quick glance.

Louis nodded. “I’ll take it.”

The woman smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, but the only available seats are in first class. I guess you’ll just have to wait-”

Louis cut her off, pulling his wallet out before looking back at her. “How much?”

She seemed to ponder her options, looking him over quite obviously. She eyed his disheveled clothes in obvious judgement, and took on a hard gaze. “Without exceeding my limits, I simply don’t think a man like you would have the ways to pay for such a ticket.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, opening his wallet up and pulling out a wad of banknotes. “I don’t want your opinion, ma’am. I simply want to get onto that plane.”

She gaped at him, her eyes flicking between the lump of money and Louis’s clothes, but quickly regained her demeanour. She wrote the amount down on a scrap of paper, passing it over to him. He nodded, pulling out the expected money and handing it over to the woman. He hadn’t wanted to have to pay with a credit card that could eventually be tracked down, so he had subtracted an adequate sum from his bank account. When he would arrive in Los Angeles, he’d be able to use money he’d had saved up in his and Harry’s house there.

He thanked the woman in a clipped tone - she had, after all, been rather impolite with him - and allowed her to direct him towards the right wing of the airport.

He didn’t have to wait for too long, his flight having already been called, and soon enough, he was sitting uncomfortably in his seat, not many other people around him.

Louis wasn’t sure if it was best for him to have gotten seats in first class; there were less people there to possibly recognise him, after all, but he was also more expected to fly in first class than he would be in economy; and although there would’ve been more people there, they wouldn’t have been looking for him there. Not that he felt like the people here were truly looking for him, no one even knew he was missing yet; there were only three other people at the moment, two who were sleeping and one who was watching the small telly in front of him.

Louis allowed himself to relax slightly, shrugging up his shoulders as he sagged down further into his seat. He let his eyes drift closed, waiting for his breaths to even out. He’d always had an excessively easy time sleeping in aeroplanes, and he was currently planning on using that to his advantage.

He was woken up three times all in all; once when the plane was taking off to be briefed about security measures he should have memorised by now, another time to check on him and offer him drinks and food (all of which he politely declined), and a last time when the plane was landing to ask him to buckle his seatbelt. He was then politely led off the plane, and from then on he managed to grab a car.

He wasn’t careless enough to ask the driver to drop him directly outside of his house. Instead, he gave him the address of a house down the block, and from then on he walked, his light suitcase trailing behind him. He made it within ten minutes, opening up the door to the large house he had purchased with Harry something like a lifetime ago.

He hadn’t been here in so long. He couldn’t even remember when the last time went back to; all he really remembered was that it’d been a while. For the moment, he left his suitcase by the door, walking around without intent. Everything was where he remembered it to have been, which meant either of two things. Primo, it could mean it had also been a while since Harry had last been here. Segundo, and also most plausible hypothesis, Harry had been very careful when coming to L.A., making sure everything would still be in place on the off chance Louis would fly down to visit, so he wouldn’t feel out of his element.

Louis laughed to himself, the sound echoing in the large and empty space surrounding him. It did seem as though the second option wasn’t as impossible as they’d thought it to be, now was it? After all, he was standing in flesh and blood on the hardwood flooring of their house.

For the few rare minutes during his flight to America when he’d been awake, he’d thought about whether it would be better to stay in a hotel or in the house. Now, it could seem obvious that he chose the house, but it wasn’t that easy to decide. He’d had to think about where people would expect him to go once they found out he’d fled the country. However, since he didn’t actually believe Harry would pop up here, or suspect him of hanging out in their house - probably believing he would be more comfortable in a hotel - he’d judged he’d be relatively safe here. Plus, if it helped save him some of his liquid money and keep him from having to resort to his credit cards, then all the wiser!

He returned to the front entrance, peeking one last time behind the curtain shielding the inside of the house from an outsider’s view, and he was relieved to notice no paparazzi lurking around. For once that they were doing exactly what he wanted them to do, he could at least acknowledge it. He might spare a moment later to applaud them. Maybe.

He grabbed onto his suitcase, pulling it behind him as he made his way up the main staircase. It banged loudly against the floor, making Louis smiled. He preferred that to the noise inside his head, truth be told. He started walking slowly towards the master’s bedroom; his and Harry’s bedroom.

He paused in the doorframe, his body swaying back and forth lightly. Why did he feel as if he was intruding on something? This was his house, so why did he feel so out of place.

He let his eyes take in the room before him, his body still glued to its spot under the doorframe. The bed had clearly not been slept in for so long, the sheets almost having gotten as stiff as rock with time. The bedside tables had a thin layer of dust lining them. There were a few of Louis’s clothes piled on the floor, along with a pair of Harry’s pants. He could spot a few random everyday utility objects through the adjacent bathroom door. There were a hundred other subtle clues that made it obvious that this place had once been lived in.

Louis knew that if he were to look in Harry’s bedside table, there would be lube and condoms, and that if he were to bend down and snoop under their bed, there would be an innocent-enough looking box that hid the toys they kept in L.A. Instead of letting his mind linger on that thought for too much time, he let his eyes slide over to the closed closet doors. If Harry truly hadn’t touched anything here and it didn’t look like he had, well then the closet would be littered with their clothes, all thrown half hazardously across the floor, no particular distinction between his or Harry’s clothes.

He took in a steadying breath, letting the comfort and the familiarity of this room fill him. Unlike every other part of the house, that all smelled vaguely like a well balanced mix between various cleaning detergents and unsupportable stuffiness, here, it smelled purely of him and Harry. The master’s bedroom and bath were the only parts of the house where they had specifically instructed their cleaning people not to come in. Louis didn’t even think the boys had ever been in their room. Here, in the room he had shared with Harry, he could still feel Harry’s presence like a comforting aura.

He shook his head. That wasn’t right. It used to be comforting; now, it wasn’t anything other than overwhelming. He could still feel how happy he had been here, and he couldn’t bear it. He could hear all the laughs he and Harry had shared, he could taste all the sweet, innocent kisses - and the less innocent ones - they had exchanged. He could still feel the soft touches they’d shared in the early hours of the morning, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t bear to feel anymore. It was just too much.

That’s when it hit him; that’s when he understood why he felt like he was intruding on something. This place, this world, had been a happier Louis’s one. This wasn’t his place to be. He was eavesdropping on a happier past, and how _stupid_ did that even sound, honestly? It was _his_ past and _his_ memories. But it was still the truth.

“Fuck you, Harry. Seriously,” he spat out, the words like venom on his tongue.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to bathe in the nostalgia this room brought on to him, before backing out of it, turning around, and making his way towards one of the guest bedrooms.

This time, when he entered the bedroom, he crossed it, his feet sinking into the far too clean carpet, and he let himself fall back onto the bed, his suitcase remaining unattended to. He’d take care of it later.

His hand reached for his phone, which had remained carefully hidden away in his trousers’ back pocket. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up his face. He had half a dozen text messages from Harry, and it required all of Louis’s will not to open them up and answer to them. Instead, he forced his eyes to jump down to Zayn’s contact name, opening the message stream up. He quickly typed up a message to let him know that he was settled in just fine, and to thank Zayn again for backing him up on this one. He knew fully well that he wouldn’t even be out of his flat, back in London, if it weren’t for him.

He sighed, forcing himself to put his phone away, closing it for safety measures. Absolutely not because he didn’t want to be tempted in answering Harry, no. Just how ridiculous would that be?

He never got up again that night. He simply fell asleep, completely oblivious to how Harry was pulling his hair out of worry back in London, almost nine thousand kilometers away from him. Harry was asking, begging, _pleading_ Zayn to feed him information about where Louis was. He had noticed rather early on that Louis was missing, and now it was driving him insane. Obviously, none of his attempts worked, and Zayn’s lips had remained as shut as he’d promised Louis they would be.

But that didn’t stop Harry from trying, for the following eight days, to pry any clue as to where he could find Louis out from his friends. And a long eight days it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait, I've just been hitting a lot of deadlines at school recently and a lot's been going on. I really wanted to have this up, though, so here it is!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think! Next chapter _should_ be in Harry's POV. 
> 
> Also, I would like to say, because some of you found my personal Twitter, and yup it wasn't that hard to find ;) but I switched it for another one, because my cousin follows me on my personal and I didn't particularly fancy her finding Larry stuff, so if you want, this is my Larry Twitter: @dashinglourry


	15. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: in addition to the one I put about not knowing/owning the boys and how I am not making money off of this in any way, I now have something else to add. I live in Canada, and have been to neither England nor L.A. This means that all the geographical information I've collected about these places come from either my friend doing exhaustive researches or Google.

Eight days.

It had been eight days since there had been a sighting of Louis, and Harry was _beginning_ to worry.

At first, Harry hadn’t really thought much of it, no, not at all. He hadn’t spent every second of his waking time wondering what was going on. He hadn’t been overcome by every single possibility - be it a car crash, an extraterrestrial invasion, or even a black hole silently drawing Louis into its debt without anyone else picking up on it, - and every slightly realistic scenario had definitely not crashed into him full force. Anyone who dared say elsewise was really just a lying prick.

After the first few days - some might say hours, but then again, no one in their right mind would, right? Anyways, after a while, Harry had started to question himself a bit more. He had made a list of what could be going on, and had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t all that better off than the media. Not when it came to knowing Louis’s whereabouts. He had decided that the extraterrestrial abduction and the black hole theory were rather implausible, although he didn’t cross them off just yet. He simply relayed them to the bottom of the list, still leaving a blank slate right below. You never know, there might be some other, even crazier explanation out there.

He’d come up with a few dozen reasons as to Louis’s disappearance, but only two had actually managed to preserve his attention, demanding further looking into. The first one being that management had put Louis in some kind of solitary confinement, also known as lockdown. However, after carefully studying every article having come out recently concerning Louis, Harry had realised that there wouldn’t be any reason for management doing that. Cross that option off the list then.

The second possibility was that he had simply gone on an impromptu trip, trying to lie as low as possible. Now Harry couldn’t be entirely sure as to why Louis would do this, he wasn’t daft enough not to consider himself as an eventual reason. He knew that there was a fair chance Louis was trying to stay as far away from him as possible, _fair_ being used here in the same context as it would be in, “I have a fair chance of having DNA similar to that of my parents.”

Once he’d narrowed his options down to that last explanation, he had tried to figure out where it was exactly that Louis would have gone. He’d spent roughly three days doing this, locked up in his house, and maybe that wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but being bombarded by the media, which was bound to happen would he lay foot outside of his house, wouldn’t be any better. In the end, he hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring it out where Louis had gone to than he’d been in the beginning. Every single place Harry could think of was either too easily discovered, or unattainable. Like the moon.

On the eighth day - oh did this not sound like a Christmas carol? Just not as joyful, - Harry decided he’d done enough solitary worrying. However, what he hadn’t done, was worrying alongside the boys; Liam, Zayn, and Niall. So he got up from his bed, the shape of his body remaining imprinted in the mattress due to too many hours spent lying there immobile, and quickly rang Niall up, warning him he was coming over, and asking him to get the other boys to join them. Niall simply sighed, not bothering to question Harry, and said he’d do it, but “Goddamn it Harry! If this is for another one of your ‘interventions’ about internalised anger or whatever it is this time, I swear, the door _will_ hit you on the way out.” Harry had told Niall to relax, that this wasn’t an intervention. He would never admit this, but he himself might be the one needing that kind of intervention. Not that he’d accept one, anyways.

It wasn’t even half an hour later that he was walking through the rain and towards Niall’s flat, his collar pulled up to his nose and his hood hiding his eyes. As soon as he was inside, he shook his coat off, rain pellets hitting the ground in a soft melody. He kicked his wet shoes off, making his way into the living room, where he could hear faint voices being carried over to him. He was overcome by a sense of déjà-vu, except that last time, there had been Louis, and the evening had ended with a snogging session. That seemed to be relatively out of the question for this afternoon.

He spotted Liam first, and that was only because he was standing with his back facing Harry. Zayn and Niall were both sitting on the couch. Harry walked past Liam, dropping down on the recliner behind him. Liam didn’t stop talking, and Harry didn’t bother joining in on the conversation.

It took a little over half an hour, but eventually, Liam’s words died down, his movements getting less frantic, his eyes more lucid. Harry didn’t even know what he’d been talking about, and for some odd reason, he couldn’t bring himself to care. If it had been any of his concern, the boys would have waited for him to get there before starting, or they would have at least filled him up on whatever it was he’d missed.

Liam strode towards him, dropping in his lap tiredly. He sagged into Harry, their bodies becoming one in the confined area that was allocated to them by the chair. Liam curled into Harry, but Harry could feel how tense he was in his arms. It made him sad to think that this was because of how cold he’d become in these past few months, but he’d needed his space to think.

What the Hell. Why had Harry even needed space to think? He’d known from the start that he was going to get Louis back, or at least try to.

He felt Liam’s fingers pressing into the skin covering his ribs, and he squirmed a bit under the light pressure. He looked up, meeting his friend’s eyes. “You okay?” Liam asked him.

Harry shifted around, breaking his gaze away from Liam’s. He nodded, humming out somewhat of an answer. He wasn’t sure if it sounded more like a yes or a no, but by the way Liam pulled away slightly; Harry’s response mustn't have sounded all too convincing. Harry wanted to thank Liam for giving him space, for pulling back when he was so uncomfortable - he didn’t exactly enjoy feeling too crowded in by people as of late - but he couldn’t get his mouth to work for the love of God.

The boys all let the air settle down around and between them, allowing each other a few minutes to properly breathe before jumping into the heat of the subject. Harry somehow found himself wishing that they’d all get down to it already, though; the tension building up was become properly unbearable, something like a snake crawling under his skin. He could feel it, and it was making his hair stand on end.

He looked up, meeting Zayn’s eyes. There was something in his gaze, almost like he was trying to read Harry, but not in the usual curious way. There seemed to be more in the look he was giving him this time. Harry turned his eyes away.

“So why did you want to invade my flat, Haz?” Niall finally broke the silence, which was now reaching a near suffocating point.

Harry coughed, trying to get his throat to feel less oppressed. “There’s-” He coughed again, his voice too hoarse to be understood. “There’s been a lot going on, recently,” cough, “you know? And” cough, “I just needed to talk it through with you guys.” He ran his hair through his hair nervously, fingers catching in some knots. He pulled, trying to free his hand. “See what you know.”

Liam was staring at his lap besides Harry. “Just say it, Harry,” he softly spoke, his stature remaining high.

Harry coughed into his shoulder, trying to buy himself a few spare seconds before it would be out in the open. “Louis.” It seemed to be enough, at least, it had seemed that way in his mind. However, when he looked up to meet two confused gazes and one sympathetic look; he cleared his throat to clarify. “It’s been eight days.”

Liam shrugged, seemingly dismissing the subject as a random fact, not worth his time. That kind of attitude would _not_ help Harry in the least. “Has it really been eight days already?”

Harry crossed his ankles, trying to shrink himself into the recliner. “The media hasn’t seen him in eight days. The fans haven’t heard of him in as long. _I_ haven’t got a clue as to where he could even be, and he’s not seeming all too willing to show a sign of life anytime soon. You can’t actually blame me for being troubled by this.”

“Oh come on, Harry. You shouldn’t even worry.”

“Really?” he answered blindly. “Last I checked, Louis wasn’t doing too well. I’m not a psychiatrist or anything, far from it, in all honesty. But any decent person would know it’s probably not best to leave him to care for himself in these conditions. He needs someone there with him, wherever _there_ is.” He looked around frantically, trying to find approval in any of their eyes, but instead, what he found was pity, which he neither wanted, nor needed.

“And I’m guessing this ‘someone’ you’re talking about, the person who should be with him, is you?” Liam asked. Harry looked away, his cheeks heating up. Liam rested his hand on his forearm gently. “Look, it doesn’t matter. All I know is that _we_ ,” he gestured to himself and the two other guys, “still don’t know exactly what led to this, to the both of you acting this way with each other. However, from what we do know? Louis shouldn’t be in any danger right now.”

Harry wanted to speak, tell him that Louis _was_ in danger, that as soon as he wasn’t in Harry’s sight, he was in danger. Liam seemed to sense Harry’s growing anxiousness, so he softly squeezed at his forearm, keeping Harry’s attention solely on him.

“Well, if you have any reason to believe Louis could endanger himself, then you have to tell us, and we’ll listen. But right now? All I can say, Harry, is that he wasn’t well here, in London. He’s probably better off where ever it is that he is right now than when he was here.”

Harry shook his head. Louis would never do anything to hurt himself. “But he belongs here,” he whispered instead, choosing to speak the only thing that was on his mind.

Niall sat up straighter in his seat, inching forward slightly. “Here? Or with you, Harry?” Harry looked up at him, noticing the piercing look Niall was giving him and meeting it with a cold one. Niall shrugged, leaning back in the sofa. “Sorry, I had to say it.” Liam nodded next to Harry before Niall continued speaking. “Look, Harry. It’s absolutely nothing personal, okay? But anyone could see how he wasn’t happy here anymore. And the fact that he decided to leave to God knows where, means that he’s trying to get to a better place. If that can do him any good, any at all, then I’ll be damned if I keep him from it by trying to pull him back here.”

Harry sighed, falling back into the recliner. “You don’t know where he is, then?”

Niall shook his head. “Sorry, mate. No idea.”

Harry sighed deeply. “I’ve just got this gut feeling, you know?”

They all nodded, although Harry knew none of them understood what he meant. He didn’t even comprehend it himself. All he knew was that there was this pain inside of him, consuming him every hour of the day when he wasn’t within Louis’s reach. Well, when he put his mind to it, he could acknowledge that it wasn’t like the pain disappeared when he was near Louis, far from it, really; it actually intensified. But at least then, oddly, it became bearable.

Zayn turned to Harry, looking him directly in the eyes for the first time since Harry had mentioned Louis’s name. “How did you even realise he was lying low?” There was something in his gaze that caught Harry’s attention, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was. “I mean, we’re all on some kind of break right now, it’s not unusual _per se_ that he’d be a bit less in the public eye, so how did you notice”

Harry couldn’t help but denote the slight bitterness in Zayn’s tone - he didn’t mind it, he felt that there was probably a reason behind it, or maybe Zayn was having a bad day, whatever, everyone had those, - and so he didn’t bother trying to keep the sarcasm out of his. “Oh I’m sorry; I forgot to mention I have this pixie feeling that allows me to sense whenever something that involves Louis happens. Truly, it’s my bad.” He paused, gauging Zayn’s disbelieving expression. “Really Zayn, what do you think I did? I looked him up: Twitter, Google, Facebook goddamn it!”

Zayn shook his head.

“What?” Harry almost shouted, reining his voice in at the last second. “We said we’d try to be friends. Friends are allowed to care for each other.”

Zayn nodded slowly, his face remaining emotionless. “Yes, friends can care for each other. They can worry, and smile, and laugh with or at each other. But your friend needs space, _then you bloody give him space_. You don’t turn everything topsy turvy in order to find him, when he’s clearly all but _begging_ to be left alone. Friends give each other space.” He lowered his voice. “When friends need to be alone, well then, you fucking smile, nod, and walk away. Let Louis loose himself, freaking shit, Haz, he’s already bloody lost! The only thing that might happen at this point is that he could finally find the path he’s meant to be following again, he might even find himself again.” He leaned in closer, his features relaxing. “Don’t keep him from finally being happy, please.”

Harry nodded, lips shut tight. There was a long silence that settled between the boys, seemingly stretching out for an eternity. “I want him to be happy,” Harry spoke slowly when no one expected him to speak up anymore.

Liam leisurely raised his head, turning towards Harry as if he feared he might be disturbing some sort of natural balance of things. His eyes raked over his friend’s face, trying to capture something, searching him for anything out of order. Harry remained immobile, save for the soft smile that shyly crept onto his face, resting subtly, almost imperceptibly, between his cheeks.

When Liam caught onto Harry’s facial expression, he answered it with a timid upturning of his own lips, letting himself sink back into Harry’s side. “So do we, Haz,” he sighed out.

***

Harry huffed out a long breath, pushing his chest out as he buried his nose further into his coat. His nose was red from the slightly cold breeze sweeping down the streets of London, and his hands were hidden away in the pockets of his windbreaker. It was definitely not as cold as it had been a few weeks ago, but with the sun having taken refuge beyond the horizon a few short hours ago; the temperature had quickly gone down a few degrees.

He walked around the corner of a road, looking up briefly to catch the imposing mansion of a house staring down at him. It was some kind of Victorian building, complete with gargoyles that sent chills down Harry’s spine.

Harry noticed the slowly growing headlights of some car driving towards him, so he moved to the side of the road, cursing as he stepped into a glacial water puddle. It soaked through his shoe, making him far more aware of his every step. He hastened his pace.

He’d been walking aimlessly for the past few hours or so, had witnessed the sunset and was fairly sure he would still be present to watch the sunrise if it weren’t for the media he kept catching glances of out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like they were bothering him too much, but he knew it wouldn’t make too good of an impression on management, who was probably already in over their heads trying to locate Louis, than to find one of their clients on every gossip sites for having spent an entire night meandering around alone in the dark. Harry was no publicist, but he knew that being reported as possibly lunatic or insomniac for spending his entire night out lurking the London streets, wouldn’t be all too welcome publicity.

He sat down by a lamppost, the only source of light at this point in the road. The moon and stars weren’t even out, making for a completely dark sky.

He looked around, completely unsure as to where he was. There weren’t all too many cars anymore, most buildings around him having their lights turned off. If he had to guess, he’d say the time was somewhere past one in the morning, but even then, he wasn’t all that sure.

He rubbed his hands across his thighs, letting out a puff of white air when he exhaled.

“ _Friends give each other space_.” He clenched his jaw, eyes setting on a small pebble by his left foot. He kicked at it.

That sentence had been going through his mind ever since it had slipped through Zayn’s lips. It had been the only thing keeping him from searching for Louis on the Internet again a few hours ago, which had led to him sitting here now. Once he’d figured that the only way to ‘give Louis some space’ was to make it impossible for himself to do elsewise, Harry had pulled on his spring coat, leaving his phone in his house as he’d walked away, as far and as fast as possible. He needed to learn how to first and foremost be a friend to Louis, and being too bothersome and too worried wasn’t the way to do so.

He pulled himself up from where he’d been seated, disregarding the few paparazzi still following him around. At least they were keeping their distance - funny how they managed to do so, but Harry was still finding it difficult to give Louis that space he so desperately yearned for.

As he made his way back to his house, recognising a few street signs but being unable to connect them to anything tangible, Harry made it his goal not to think about Louis too much. At first, he tried to go five seconds without thinking his name. He then dragged the time out to ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, sixty seconds. He tried going minutes without picturing his blue eyes, tried to go a quarter of an hour without hearing his laugh in his mind. Every time, he failed, but he’d still consider it a small victory, because even though he wasn’t managing to make his Louis-less thoughts last, he was able to at least forge them and cherish them for as short a time as he could.

This was proof that he would eventually be able to give Louis space, in some way.

He didn’t even realise he was nearing his own house until he was already standing in his driveway.

That was also the point at which Harry broke down.

It didn’t happen like it does in movies, though. Harry didn’t crumble to the ground; didn’t feel as if he’d been robbed of his legs; didn’t feel his heart shatter inside his chest. All that happened was that he saw blue eyes looking down at him, and slowly, he came to a stop, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He didn’t cry, he didn’t scream, nothing. He didn’t hyperventilate, and he didn’t feel like punching something until the skin of his knuckles would break. He simply stood in the middle of the entryway with blue eyes in his mind and a biting fear that the person to whom those eyes belonged was out of his reach, too far away to grasp.

It took Harry more time than what he was able to keep track of before he finally managed to take another step forward. His other foot followed behind, his hands remaining clenched into fists. If he were to guess, from that point on, it must have taken him five minutes to reach his front porch, and another few to dig his keys out from the front pocket of his coat.

He was so out of it that he didn’t even recognise the car sitting out front in his driveway. Truth be told, he hadn’t even noticed it.

That was, until he walked into his house, spotting his friend’s lingering figure by the kitchen entry.

He turned around in time to see Zayn’s car slipping away behind the closing door. Harry shut his eyes, breathing in deeply. “What are you doing here?” he questioned innocently.

Zayn walked towards Harry, checking his phone quickly before speaking. “You wanted to talk about Louis earlier.”

At those words, Harry’s entire posture changed. He stood taller, eyes gleaming in the dark against his skin. “Yes?”

Zayn closed his eyes. “Well, I want to talk about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the wait, something big came up last week and I just couldn't get this up on time. However, now that it _is_ up, I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, my friend made me realise that I'm quite fond of cliffhangers, so sorry for that...
> 
>  
> 
> xx


	16. XVI

Harry nodded, leading Zayn into his kitchen. He really didn’t want to talk about himself to anyone. He put the kettle on, reaching up into the cupboard above his sink to take out some tea. He turned around to face Zayn, who had made himself quite comfortable sitting up on the counter. Harry reached past him, taking two cups into his hands. He raised one in his friend’s general direction, tilting his head ever so slightly. “You up for a cuppa?”

Zayn checked his watch, and then answered that he’d like one, yes.

When the kettle started to whistle, Zayn got down from where he’d been seated to pull it off. While Harry took out the tea pouches from their packaging, Zayn poured some water into their cups. He then went back to sitting on one of the counter tops, allowing Harry to do the rest. He knew Harry would prepare his tea just like he wanted, and honestly, he didn’t even know whether or not he’d actually drink it.

A few instants passed by before Harry turned around, sliding Zayn’s cup over to him. He leaned into the fridge, shivering when his back came into contact with the appliance. He eyed Zayn carefully, his eyes raking over his body. “How long have you been here for?” he finally asked between two sips of his still scalding hot tea. He hissed silently, probably burning his tongue on the liquid, but it nonetheless didn’t keep him from continuing to drink it.

Zayn spun his cuppa around a few times on the countertop, pondering his words. “I arrived around the same time articles started popping up about your ‘night out.’”

Harry nodded. “I figured as much.”

Zayn brought his legs up, crossing them beneath him. “Where did you go anyways?”

Harry laughed. “Didn’t you read the articles? I’m sure they must have mentioned something about how I was just meandering around the London streets, possibly seeming slightly out of it.”

Zayn shook his head, not quite meeting Harry’s gaze. “I meant, like, did you have a destination in mind when you left?”

It was Harry’s turn to shake his head, taking a long gulp of his tea. He let himself sink down to the floor, raising his head to manage to keep Zayn in his eyesight. “I just wanted to go on a walk.”

“Right.” Zayn took a first tentative sip of his tea, licking over his lips when he gently put the cup down next to him. “Do you even know how long you were out for? Hours, that’s the answer” He jumped down from the counter, picking his tea up to empty it into the sink. Harry just watched on. Zayn rinsed his cup, turning his back to Harry as he made his way to the coffee machine. “Sorry, I’m just feeling like having coffee.” He quickly looked over his shoulder to Harry. “D’you mind?”

“No, absolutely not, go ahead.”

Zayn started to rummage through the lower cupboards, which were filled with random kitchen necessities. “D’you still have your drip coffeemaker, or did you get rid of it when you bought the Nespresso?”

Harry smiled behind his cup of tea, swallowing before answering. “Yeah I kept it, it’s just well hidden. I reckon it’s in the back.”

Zayn nodded, pulling out a few pots and pans, before finally humming out his approval. He took out the coffeemaker and put it down beside him. “I’ve always loved this machine. I still can’t believe I never found one for my flat.”

“I think it might be discontinued?” Harry said questioningly.

Zayn laughed at this, his back still to Harry as he made himself his coffee. “I’ve never heard of discontinued coffee makers, H.”

He could hear the coffee dripping down into Zayn’s cup, and surely, a few seconds later, he was turning around with a cup filled to the rim with coffee in his hands.

“You know, I’ve spoken to Louis recently.”

This seemed to pique Harry’s interest, who turned around to look at Zayn so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t get a whiplash from it. He studied Zayn, searching him for some kind of clue as to why he was even being told this. “So do you know where he is?” Harry asked slowly, although he knew he probably wouldn’t get an answer.

Zayn shot Harry a tight lipped smile, which in itself was neither a yes nor a no. He took a long gulp of his coffee, and Harry’s eyes never left his face during all that time. “I told you I wanted to talk about you, first, Harry.”

Harry frowned. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And I’m not going to if you don’t listen to me.” This shut Harry up effectively. “I want to know why you did it.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at that. “Did what?” he asked curiously, and there was almost a smirk in his voice.

Zayn looked down at Harry over the rim of his cup. He took his time answering, savouring the silence enveloping them almost as much as he was enjoying his coffee. “You cheated.” This wiped the grin off of Harry’s face, being replaced by the same expression a lost animal might make. “And although I really couldn’t care less about the details of it, I sort of need to know a few things.” Harry looked at his hands and got up, deciding distract himself by making himself more tea now that the one he’d been steadily sipping on was all gone. Zayn continued to speak to Harry’s back. “Are you going to answer my questions?”

Was he going to? Harry had half a mind to just walk away at this point. But he also knew now that Zayn was his best chance at finding Louis at this point, which is why what finally left his mouth was a cold “yes.”

“Good.” Zayn ran his fingers over his jawline, contemplating where to start off. “How about you start off by simply summarising what happened. Just the general lines of it, I don’t care enough your sex life to want a second by second re-enactment.”

Harry almost wanted to point out how that was more of a suggestion than a question, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he finished making himself his second cup, and words started flowing out of his mouth monotonously, almost robotically, rhythmically recounting what had gone down between Louis and him. At this point, he should really be used to explaining what had happened, but honestly, he wasn’t. So he contented himself with just retelling everything the same way he would if he were describing something that had happened to a complete other person, a stranger; emotionlessly. His voice didn’t waver, but even he could admit it sounded almost scary how devoid of anything close to humane he seemed.

He didn’t leave much out, knowing fully well that he would lose all hope of seeing Louis soon if he did. His eyes caught the small time display his microwave was offering him, and he was almost surprised to see how they were steadily edging close to five in the morning.

He could hear himself speaking, but he knew it wasn’t actually himself Zayn was listening to; he was hearing the story of a cruel man who should have known better, who probably did, but who had nonetheless decided to ignore common sense.

By the time he was finished with the story, he had emptied his second cup of tea, and was too tired to be bothered with refiling it. Instead, he allowed himself to be filled with the dreadful silence stretching out between him and Zayn.

“I don’t understand,” Zayn finally said, and Harry almost wanted to say that that was the thing; no one understood, not even himself. “What was it exactly that you were trying to prove to yourself?”

“Nothing.”

Zayn sighed. He let the silence stretch out between them again before getting up and walking over to Harry but not quite close enough to touch him yet. “What are you holding back, Harry? I can tell there’s something else, something you’re not saying.”

Harry shook his head.

Zayn decided to let it go. He couldn’t exactly force it out of Harry; so instead, he started talking about something else. “You know, that night, when he must’ve walked out on you-”

“He never walked in on me cheating Zayn, _God_ no.”

Zayn shot Harry a glance, and he looked like he was trying so hard not to seem annoyed but was barely managing. “I didn’t say he walked in on you, you wanker, I said he walked out on you, as in he left you.” He shot Harry a short glance before continuing. “Anyways, when he left, he came to my flat. And do you know what he did?”

Harry shook his head, eyes wide. He’d never heard of what it was that Louis did during the first few weeks after the breakup.

“He cried, and he shouted, and he swore. But he never mentioned you. The only clue I had that something had happened between the two of you was how he had cringed when I’d asked where you were. And it wasn’t as if I’d said it menacingly, no. I took him in my arms and asked if he wanted me to call you. He didn’t say anything, but he shivered, batting his arms as though he was trying to push me away. So I pulled away and looked at him, and I mean I _really_ looked at him. Obviously I’d noticed how he was crying, but I hadn’t seen how empty his eyes were. I think that’s what set me off that this might have to do with you. That’s when I asked where you were.” Zayn shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What happened?” Harry asked, his eyes still as wide as marbles.

Zayn looked directly at him. “I told you. He cringed, almost like I’d physically slapped him. Anyways, I still pretended to be as clueless as a button until he actually told me for himself that you’d both broken up.”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling faint. “I never wanted to hurt him,” he whispered.

“Well you did. So how about you come to terms with that, and answer one last question for me.”

Harry took in a long breath, preparing himself for the worst, before he nodded.

It took a good minute for the words to come out of Zayn’s mouth, but they eventually did. “I know you’re hiding something from Louis, but why?”

Harry did a mixture of sighing and shrugging, somehow curling up on himself slightly. “I don’t want to hurt him any more than what I’ve already done.” His voice had barely come out, but it was enough for Zayn to hear him.

“Then how about you think of this; wouldn’t it be best for him to have everything laid out in front of him. I mean, if you say everything, then there’s nothing left for you to hurt him with, right? Anyway, that’s just my opinion.”

Harry promised that he’d think about it, but right now, he couldn’t. He figured he might after getting some sleep, so he told Zayn he’d be heading off to bed, and invited him to stay for the night. He had almost reached his bedroom door when he was stopped.

“Actually, there’s something more.”

He turned around without quite letting go of the door’s handle yet. “Yes?”

“I told you I’ve spoken to Louis. He says he’s ready to see you.”

Harry’s face was slowly split in two by a large, beaming smile. He would soon get to see Louis, and that meant so much to him. “Really?” Zayn nodded. “Where is he then?”

He watched on as Zayn pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans. He handed a piece of paper to Harry, and when he unfolded it, he realised it was a one way ticket to Los Angeles. The aeroplane would depart in a bit over two and a half hours. Harry didn’t know how to feel about this yet, should he be excited or worried? He was going to see Louis again, and soon.

“He’s been staying in your house, so I’m hoping I won’t need to give you directions.”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, absolutely not. I mean, of course I know how to get there.” He didn’t know how to feel about Louis staying in their house, either. Should he be happy? This was a sort of step up from wherever they’d been before, he supposed.

“You have to make sure not to be caught by any paps or fans if you want this whole thing to last for over two days. I’m going to try and delay management’s finding out as much as possible, because we all know that as soon as they figure out where the two of you have been, you’re both being shipped back here. And if you are spotted, at least be smart enough not to be with Louis at the moment.” Harry nodded all throughout, signaling that he was listening and that he was understanding. “Also, don’t think that this is Louis accepting to start up a new relationship with you. This is him trying to befriend you, so don’t push it and just go at his rhythm. If he tells you to leave, you leave. If he doesn’t, you don’t. Am I clear?”

Harry nodded quickly, the smile still large on his face.

Zayn helped him pack up the little amount of clothing he would need, seeing as he already had a closet full of clothes in L.A. By the time he was walking out the front door of his house, he was covered from head to toe, double checking to make sure he wouldn’t be recognised.

Getting to and through the airport wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, but seeing as how nobody expected Harry to be there, he managed to get through every checkpoint without attracting too much attention. Showing his passport was rather stressful, seeing as he didn’t want to be caught here, but he knew he didn’t have a chance, so he pulled it out with a pointed look to the person taking care of him that they shouldn’t mention seeing him to anyone. He ended up in his seat rather quickly, and from then on, he crouched down into himself. There would be less chances of being identified if he kept to himself. Luckily, the people sitting near him were all more intent on sleeping than they were to picking up a conversation with him.

The flight in itself was rather laid-back, Harry trying his best not to allow his thoughts to wander off too far. He didn’t sleep at all, but he instead preferred to look out the window, enjoying how vast and endless the ocean around him seemed.

Time flew by, quite literally, and soon enough, instructions regarding disembarquement were pouring out of the plane’s speakers. Harry waited his turn to get off the aeroplane, and as soon as his feet touched solid ground, he was heading for a cab, his carry on the only thing he had brought along with him. He tried very hard not to run, and as a compromise, he ended up quickly striding towards the car. However, he wasn’t stupid enough to be reckless and abandon all sense of subtlety, so he still made sure he would remain unidentifiable.

He asked the cab to drop him off by the road which was behind his and Louis’s house, walking the rest of the way to their backyard. To his knowledge, no one had seen him, and he sure hoped he hadn’t been wrong on that.

He shuffled his feet up their patio, standing there for a minute before finally mustering up enough courage to knock. Technically, he had the key and could easily just walk in, but he stayed still, waiting as he heard some sound coming from inside. He didn’t want to force himself inside; he would prefer to be sure that Louis wanted him here, and therefore giving him the possibility to let him in or not.

The curtains were gently pushed to the side, and Harry almost jumped up when Louis’s face appeared, still half hidden away by the curtains. He pulled back, opening the door to Harry and letting him in.

Harry dragged his carry on behind him, deciding not to speak up until Louis chose to talk to him. He was led past their kitchen and to the stairway. Here, Louis turned around to look at him, and damn if that didn’t make Harry’s breath catch in his throat. Louis ran his hand through his hair, pulling at it lightly before speaking up.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” Harry answered.

Louis looked up the stairs, almost trying to silently communicate something to Harry, but when that seemed to be unfruitful, he spoke up. “I’ve taken over one of the guest bedrooms; you can go put your stuff in another one. Just, not in our-” he cut himself off. “Not in the main bedroom. I’ll wait for you downstairs while you go set up.”

Harry nodded, making his way up the stairs. He would listen to Louis word for word if it was what it took. He passed by the master’s bedroom quickly, not allowing himself to glimpse inside it. He walked by a few other rooms, choosing one that wasn’t too big for one person. He’d be okay here.

He set up there, returning downstairs to find Louis comfortably seated in one of the sofas in front of the tellie.

This would work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay!
> 
> Next week, it is possible that I won't manage to update, seeing as how I might not have WiFi starting Wednesday. If that is the case, I apologise in advance.
> 
>  
> 
> xx


	17. XVII

Harry set up the table, putting the last knife down in Louis’s seat. He looked at it, everything seeming too straight and too obviously measured. Never would he have set the table this perfectly, this was just crazy. It was too flagrant that he’d put so much effort into this, but he wanted to make sure everything would be perfect. Then again, the future of this supper didn’t hold to the placement of their utensils.

He looked at their seats, realising he’d set them up like they always used to eat when they were dating. They weren’t dating anymore. This was a new start, a new beginning of sorts. He shook his head. He was over thinking this way too much.

He pulled on Louis’s placemat, switching it to the seat on the right, and did the same with his own placemat.

Harry smiled. There; now, they could start fresh.

He went back to the kitchen, picking up the glove he had discarded and pulling it on. He opened the oven, checking on the lasagna he’d put in about an hour ago. It seemed about ready, but he still decided to leave it in for an extra five minutes. Louis had always liked it when the cheese was just on this side of golden.

He leaned over on the counter, crossing his arms against his chest. Harry took in a steadying breath, his eyes falling shut, and let it out. This was his and Louis’s new start. They had closed their previous book, signing it off and deciding to put it on a shelf where it would surely rest for a long while. This was a brand spanking new book, one that had yet to get its back cracked. He would make sure it was the longest story yet, and the last one, too.

He opened his eyes, grabbing onto the bottle of red wine he’d put down next to his arm. He popped the cork off, reaching for the two glasses with his left hand. He poured some of the alcohol in both of them, going to put them down on the table. He took a step back when they were safely down, nodding to himself. That was great.

He walked back to the kitchen, this time pulling the lasagna out from the oven and setting it down to cool for a few minutes. He pulled out a spatula and cut it into square pieces, serving both himself and Louis, and bringing the plates out to the table. He pulled Louis’s chair out - the one that was under his _new_ table seat for their _new_ start - and pulled on the table cloth one last time, figuring that he could call Louis down now.

That’s when it hit him, though, with his voice in his throat and the words threatening to slip from his tongue. This moment, this one simple moment, had always been a part of a kind of routine to them. Harry would sing out for Louis to come down, always a variant of “Dinner's ready, love!” Always the same intonation, always a pet name tagged onto the end of the sentence. Obviously, now, the sweet nicknames were out of question, but he couldn’t exactly just call out “Dinner’s ready, Louis!” That would simply sound like a cheap version of the original, like a badly done reproduction of a hit Broadway show.

He stood there, mouth closing, for a few minutes, before deciding what to go with. “Louis? You can come down when you want. I mean, lasagna’s ready.” His voice was shy, cautious in a way it had never been before. He didn’t want to impose.

Silence stretched out after his words, and Harry held his breath, wondering whether or not Louis had even heard him. He was about to call out to ask when he heard a loud banging sound resounding through the house, followed by Louis’s cursing. Harry hesitated, wanting to go check on him but not wanting to interfere with whatever was going on.

“You okay?” he settled on asking.

He could now hear Louis’s footsteps above him, soon enough coming down the stairs. “Yes,” he yelled back. “Just tripped on a rug and fell. Nothing too bad.” He rounded the corner of the kitchen, sending a tight-lipped smile Harry’s way. He brushed his trousers off once, as if he expected there to be dust or something. “Might have thrown a vase to the floor in the process, but I don’t think it’s one that was worth too much.”

Harry nodded.

When Louis seemed to notice the set table, Harry showed him his seat, and Louis took it, looking at his plate.

“I, err, hope you like it?” Harry said, almost doubtfully.

Louis nodded, picking his fork up. “You know I love lasagna, Harry. Just, um -” He cut himself off.

“Yeah?” Harry pushed.

Louis sighed. “Well I’m not all that hungry, to be quite honest.”

Harry nodded, sitting down himself. “Just eat what you can, then.” He looked away. This all felt way too domestic for his liking. Cooking, talking, and just basically spending time together. And who was he kidding? They still had so much to talk through; they were probably nowhere near even gaining a healthy friendship, or any kind of friendship, really. They were sort of just in this awkward limbo where neither of them wanted to make the first move; they were back to three months after breaking up, when they genuinely ignored each other to avoid making things worse.

Harry looked up. He looked at Louis out of the corner of his eye, noticing how intently he was staring at his plate. That was fine; he could understand how Louis’s way of making this work was to try to put up this sort of wall between them.

A sad kind of smile graced Louis’s face, as though he could actually read Harry’s thoughts and this was his way of agreeing with them.

Harry dug into his plate, taking the first bite off of his food and bringing it to his mouth. He cringed the second he tasted it, not even because the food wasn’t good - no, it was delicious, really - but because the last time he and Louis had eaten together, it had been under quite different circumstance. More joyous ones, less morose.

“This is good, H,” Louis acknowledged, making a clear effort towards breaking the atmosphere that had settled between the two of them. He mustn’t even have noticed the nickname slipping by, although Harry did notice how it was probably the most platonic one out of the lot Louis could have chosen instead. “Is this still your mum’s recipe, it seems a bit different.” What he didn’t say was the “from last time,” which was clearly hanging off the tip of his tongue.

Harry nodded, chewing off the remaining piece of his last bite and swallowing. “Yeah, I think I might’ve just switched a spice or two around a bit.”

It didn’t slip past Harry’s radar how tense Louis seemed, or more likely was. His jaw was clenched as soon as he wasn't either chewing or talking, and he had a death grip on both his fork and his knife. He even had those wrinkles between his eyebrows he would sometimes get from concentrating too hard.

Harry took another bite off of his plate, looking at Louis intently. If he looked carefully enough, he could see his chest rising and falling with every breath, and if he was seeing clearly, his breathing was very evened out, and quite slow, a true testimony to how much effort Louis was putting into staying calm. Harry put his fork down, biting the inside of his cheek. He finished off his plate, then staying as immobile as possible, barely even breathed, waiting for Louis to look up at him, which actually took several minutes.

“If I’m making you this anxious, I can just leave,” Harry spoke up. He crossed his utensils over his now empty plate, not entirely oblivious to how Louis had still barely touched his food. “Just tell me.”

Louis put his own utensils down, cocking his head to the side at Harry curiously. “What makes you think I’m anxious?” he asked.

Harry almost barked out a laugh, but refrained from doing so, somehow getting that it wouldn’t necessarily be appreciated by Louis. “Oh come on, I’m not blind. You’re deathly tense.”

The frown between Louis’s brows seemed to deepen at that, as though to prove Harry’s point. However, Louis still shook his head in dismissal. “I’m neither anxious nor tense, Harry,” he spoke out measuredly, his words coming out at a slow pace. He lifted his hand when he noticed how Harry seemed to be about to answer, silencing him. “Let me finish,” he admonished, and Harry slouched back down in his chair. “I _am_ nervous though, reasonably so, I’d like to think.” He pushed his plate away, as if trying to create a distraction so that all of Harry’s attention wouldn’t be solely on him. “I’m sitting in _our_ kitchen with you,” he started slowly, his words coming out even slower now. “We are acting as though we are still a part of a same hole and functional family, even considering how you might possibly be the person to have hurt me most in my entire lifetime.” He let a small smile creep onto his face at that point, cutting in with a dangerously bitter, “As a matter of fact, I have yet to congratulate you on that, I believe.” His smile dropped. “And even after all of that, I’m trying to act normal and civil towards you. So excuse me, if my social skills need a bit of polishing up. I’d hope you understand.”

Harry nodded, biting his lip. He shouldn’t be allowed to even feel sad at those words, because there wasn’t a single sentence in the entirety of Louis’s speech that had been anything but blindingly honest. “It’s fine.” Harry settled on saying. “I just hate to be the cause of your being nervous, you know?”

Louis nodded. “Yes, well, too late to do anything about that, isn’t it?” And the fact alone that Louis didn’t turn that answer into a subtle dig at everything Harry had done to ruin them when he easily could have, well it made Harry realise once again how Louis was way too good for him. “Look, I’m sorry Harry, I just feel so stupid for having you over right now, possibly for a duration of several days, even. Just give me a while to get used to having you so close. This is the first time in I think almost six months that I’ve let you in this close, so take it easy on me, please.”

Harry nodded earnestly, his eyes drinking everything of this scene in. “Yeah, of course. And just know that if you have any questions or if you need me to do anything, just like say the word and I’ll do my best.”

Louis sighed. “Actually, at the moment, I do have something to tell you.” He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes to let the following bit out. “I think I’m over trying to get you to explain what happened.” He opened his eyes. “I’ve been so desperately clung to the idea that there might be some reasonable explanation behind it, something that could maybe make me feel better, and I’ve honestly gotten _nothing_ of that. And I seriously doubt that anything you could ever say could make me feel better about it, because if it could, then you’d have already said it, am I right?” He looked into Harry’s eyes, possibly for the first time since they’d sat down to eat, but didn’t wait for him to answer. “I absolutely hope you don’t take this as me letting you off the hook, because if you want the truth, I’m still so very far from forgiving you. Actually, scratch that, I’m so far from even thinking about forgiving you. The only thing this means, is that you can quit lining up those bullshit answers to what exactly happened, and why it happened.”

Harry looked into Louis’s eyes, catching nothing there but a deep grey, almost hinting towards a blue colouration. He nodded once, just to let Louis know that he was reading him loud and clear. This seemed to be enough for Louis, who picked up his up till now untouched glass of wine and swirling the liquid around.

He lifted it to Harry’s intention. “You don’t mind if I have some of this, do you?”

It seemed like an innocent enough question, but Harry knew why Louis was asking. After the weeks during which Louis had seemed like he would never emerge sober again, he was more asking if it would fill Harry with paranoia about some kind of relapse he could hypothetically experience, than he was asking if he could actually drink it. “Enjoy,” Harry simply responded, wondering for a brief second if this was really smart, but then shaking the thought away. Louis had sobered up on his own, he wasn’t an alcoholic. One glass would be fine. Plus, Harry would make sure he didn’t get a second one.

Louis tipped the glass back, taking a slow sip of the dark red liquid. He kept it in his mouth for a few seconds, and Harry could make out how he seemed to dance his tongue through the drink, before he swallowed it. He hummed his approval. “This is really good. What is it?” He opened his eyes, darting them over Harry’s face but never settling on his eyes.

Harry shrugged. “Nothing big, I actually just found it in our cellar.” His lips hesitated around _our_ but he still said it nonetheless. “I think it might actually just be a merlot,” he continued, as though he were a connoisseur in the matter.

Louis nodded, taking another sip of it. “Well then we have some really good wine, and we should have more opportunities to drink it.”

Harry laughed, lifting his own glass up and resting it against his lips. He took a small sip, allowing the drink to weigh down on his tongue before swallowing it. “I mean, it’s good.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“But,” he started, dragging out the word, “it doesn’t have that special wow factor, you know?”

“ _I think_ you just don’t know anything to wine,” Louis decided.

“ _I think_ you might just like wine too much,” Harry countered, making Louis laugh.

“Possibly,” he conceded. “Not like I care too much for anyone’s opinion, honestly.”

Harry got up, laughing at Louis’s words as he took both their plates back to the kitchen to rinse off and put them in the dishwasher. He turned around, surprised to see Louis handing him their wine glasses. He took them from his hands, their fingers touching, and he could sense him tensing up. Harry pretended not to have noticed, placing the glasses in the dishwasher before closing it, briefly glancing Louis’s way to see him trying to regain his composure. That was fine; Harry would give him all the time he would need in order for them to get to a good place again.

They finished putting everything away together, the whole thing certainly feeling more like an ordeal than it had ever before, possibly because this was absolutely too domestic for where they currently were with their relationship. After everything was done with, Harry ran upstairs, deciding to take a shower for the first time in what definitely felt like too long, but was probably not over two days.

He spend the next half hour or so under the pouring water from the showerhead, just standing there, not allowing a single thought to bother him. He washed himself off three times, soaping his hair up twice. After that, he rinsed himself off a final time, jumping out of the shower, toweling himself off and fluffing his hair up. He walked to his bedroom, picking out a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt to match, and pulled them on.

He then made his way downstairs; phone in hand with his earphones plugged in, and joined Louis in the living room. He had a book open in his lap, and Harry almost stopped for a moment in order to be properly impressed, because he had never been one for much reading, but he instead made his way to the opposite sofa, letting himself fall down in it.

He browsed through his music, ending up simply hitting shuffle when he couldn’t decide what he wanted to listen to. He let his head fall back, eyes shutting softly, and he surrendered himself to the music, allowing his mind to simply be carried by it in the most delivering way possible.

It stayed like that for a long period of time, possibly an hour, before Harry recognised something, words, that were distinctly not a part of his song. He opened his eyes, noticing how Louis was looking at him. He sat upright, pulling his left ear bud out and flicking his fringe out of his eyes. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“I sometimes forget you used to wear your hair down like that all the time.”

Harry smiled, thinking back to the last time he’d worn it down, and then to the last time Louis had seen it like that. “Yeah, it’s been a while, I guess.”

Louis nodded. “I like it like this.”

He looked back down to his book, clearly dismissing Harry from the conversation, and for the second time that night, Harry caught the hint of a true smile, just dancing at Louis’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! I managed to get this out before Friday was technically over where I live! Hope this is okay! xx


	18. XVIII

When Harry had finally found his eyes droopy enough to warrant him leaving the living room in order to seek the comfort of the bed that was his for the duration of his stay, it was probably sometime close to ten. He’d been feeling the fatigue starting to weigh down on him for the past four hours or so, but he knew enough about jet lag to decide to ignore it for a while. If he forced his body into this new time zone sooner along the trip, then he’d be better off for the rest of his stay. It was pure logic, although his body didn’t seem all too on board for his plan. Whatever.

This did mean, though, that when he finally resigned himself to going up, his feet were dragging heavily behind him, catching a few times in the carpets lining the floors. So long as he didn’t fall over, he’d consider himself fine.

The following morning, Harry wouldn’t remember much past leaving the living room, and actually, saying that he’d remember anything past eight in the night would be a vaguely dangerous overestimation of his memory. He could most likely be told that he’d been to the zoo, and he wouldn’t have any way to disprove this.

He’d put an alarm on his phone to make sure that he’d be up at nine - another one of his tricks to combat jet lag - and now, at half past, he was standing in the kitchen, cracking up eggs to mix up a batch of pancake batter. He was making the fluffy ones that Louis used to adore because “It feels like they’re just melting in my mouth.” Harry had considered himself lucky to have dug up a case of maple syrup in the basement, and he’d decided to take full advantage of that find.

He took out his whisk, finding it exactly where it had last been months ago, and he started to beat the ingredients together, waiting for them to reach a thick and white consistency before starting to pour the first pancake into his already heated pan.

He heard sound coming from upstairs a while after, and figured that Louis was finally up. A decent amount of time passed before the boy decided to come down, and at that point, Harry was finishing up the last pancake. He turned around, meaning to greet Louis, but he instead realised that he was frozen in the doorway, completely still.

“Hey?” Harry asked, not meaning for it to come out as a question.

Louis didn’t move, but his eyes scanned up and down Harry’s figure. Harry was trying to understand what was going on. The only thing he could come up with was that Louis might not have expected him to be there, in the kitchen; maybe he had forgotten he had come over entirely; maybe he had woken up thinking it was all a dream, but he felt like that wasn’t what was gluing Louis to the kitchen floor. Whatever it was, and even if he was completely off and Louis had never forgotten about Harry’s presence, a possibility that was more than likely, Harry needed to not push Louis, let him figure himself out on his own. This was fine, and whatever this was would pass - Louis’s current state, not his general nervousness around Harry. He knew that wasn’t exactly temporary.

Harry turned around, putting his dirty dishes and everything of the sort in the sink, pulling out a rag to quickly clean some spilt batter up. When he was done, he dried his hands off on a towel, sparing Louis a quick glance. He was still frozen to his spot a few feet away from Harry, his eyes continuously darting over Harry’s person, quickly alternating between looking at the oven, where the pancakes were keeping warm in a glass dish, and the boy in front of him.

Harry slowly edged towards Louis, stopping just far away enough for it to be impossible to reach out to him without bending forward. Harry kept his tone bordering on cautious, but still pepped, because he knew that the last thing Louis would need now was for him to be acting condescending. “You okay, Louis?”

Louis shook his head, clearing his mind, and the glassy-eyed look he’d been sporting was finally lifted, much to Harry’s relief. Louis was back with him, and this was confirmed when he offered Harry a shy, but still very much so present, smile. He nodded.

Harry stayed still, but smiled back. “You want to talk about it?”

Louis shrugged. “Not all that much to talk about, really.” He walked passed Harry, going to make himself a cup of tea, and turning around briefly to offer one to Harry, who they both knew would never be one to turn down freshly brewed tea, especially in the morning. “I guess it just caught me off guard. I mean, like, how back when we were, you know, _together_ , I’d wake up and find you making breakfast in the kitchen, and now that’s exactly how I found you. Just some odd feeling of déjà-vu, I’d say.” He finished up their cups, offering Harry his.

Harry nodded, taking it into his hands, his fingers curling around the warm ceramic. “Is that okay, though?”

Louis looked up at him, eyes becoming more and more of a blue colour with each passing day, the grey slowly leaving them. That must have been some kind of positive sign, like life was slowly making its way back into his body. “Yeah, I mean, it’s just gonna take some getting used to, I guess.” His eyes fluttered shut as he took a tentative sip of his scalding tea. He then looked back at Harry, and this time there was something more in his gaze, almost bordering on sadness. “We’ve basically spent nearly six months out of each other’s lives. It’s a big jump for me to all of a sudden be living with you, in a house we used to share, for who knows how long.”

And it made sense, really, his explanation. Harry could also need some time to adjust, although this wasn’t about him. No, this was about Louis.

“How long were you planning on staying in L.A.?” Harry asked while pulling out plates from the cabinets, changing the subject. His back was to Louis, so he couldn’t see his reaction.

“Initially?” Louis asked, taking out gloves to pull the pancakes out of the oven.

“And at the moment, I guess.”

Louis shrugged once again. “Before coming here, I didn’t have much of a plan. You know me, Harry, the only way I manage to leave without anyone knowing is if I leave by surprise,” he said, and Harry didn’t miss how he grimaced, because that was the thing. Harry _did_ know him. “It wasn’t a planned trip; Zayn said I should try to get some space, and so I did. I had no idea what I was doing, and honestly, I was ready to stay here until someone came and _forcibly brought me back to London_.”

Harry laughed, even though there was nothing quite funny in that, but it just made sense to laugh. “And what about now?”

“I’m still not all that sure I ever want to go back to London. So much has happened there, you know? And I’m better here anyways. But I do realise that I can’t stay here forever.”

Harry frowned, filling both of their plates with pancakes and giving Louis’s back to him. Louis sat it down on the counter, pulling the maple syrup out of the fridge where Harry had put it after opening the can, and drowning his pancakes in it before handing it over to Harry. “And why not?”

“Well, quite frankly, I’m going to end up running out of eggs.” There was mischief shining in his eyes as he said the words, and he cut into his first pancake.

“So what?” Harry asked, mimicking Louis’s actions and bringing his fork to his mouth. “Just run to the grocery. You’ve certainly not forgotten how to push a trolley around because of your fame, now have you?”

“No, but apparently you’ve gotten thicker because of it,” Louis shot back. “Picture it, Harry: as soon as I set foot outside this house, I’m bound to get papped, which means management’s going to figure out I’m in Los Angeles. If I do that, I might as well just have signed for my plane ticket myself, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded, finishing off his first pancake. “So if you haven’t been to the groceries since you’ve landed in America, and you haven’t right?” Louis shook his head. “Then how is it that we have still fresh eggs? I’ve not been here in a long while, and I know you haven’t been here in even longer. Anything we would have had would’ve gone bad by now.”

Louis scoffed. “Come on, now, you must know by now that I have my ways. I gave Mrs. Landon a list of groceries and asked her if she could go get them for me.” Mrs. Landon was one of their neighbours. She’d always been extremely friendly towards both Louis and Harry, and they’d actually enjoyed themselves in her company when they all got together. She obviously didn’t know they were dating, or used to be; she thought they were, at most, good friends, but that didn’t stop them from getting on well. “She told me she’d love to, but warned me that she’d be leaving for Vegas soon. It might be somewhere else that she’s going, I’m not all that sure, but that’s not the point.”

Harry nodded, a smile lingering at the edge of his mouth, but he didn’t dare bring it out entirely.

Both his and Louis’s plates were now empty, so he took them into his hands, putting them away in the dishwasher. An easy type of silence settled between them, Harry cleaning up the mess he’d made by cooking breakfast, Louis keeping his eyes trained on him.

It didn’t take a genius to realise how tense Harry was, too, around Louis, but it did comfort Louis a bit to notice how stiff his movements were, like an automatism, all too robotic. Perhaps he could have been happy out of a twisted kind of pride; to know that even though Harry put him through Hell, now, he was the one who had the upper hand. However, he wasn’t happy, nor did he feel like he was the only one entitled to being off; he was simply comforted by the fact that they were both in this boat together.

Harry looked over at Louis, finally done with the dishes. He could already picture the day he’d have ahead of him; an easy, laid-back day. And that was fine, perfectly okay, because it wasn’t as if they had all too many of those when they had to work. It would be nice, for once, not to have to worry about this job, his image, his contract. He could just be him, something that, even with friends, could be hard to do. Now, he’d finally manage to spend time doing what he liked to do, all disturbances removed, his phone somewhere in his bedroom, completely discarded for the time being.

An hour later, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was lounging by the pool, aviators on and bathing trunks pulled up high on his thighs. He loved sitting by the pool, relaxing, and he loved it even more now that there weren’t pictures of him being taken and screams to be heard in the background. There were no people to come ask for anything out of him, and there wasn’t anyone to remind him of some or another engagement he had to fulfil.

He sunbathed for a while, and if he were to be honest, he wouldn’t be able to say how long he was just lying by the pool, considering how after about half an hour of lounging there, he’d fallen asleep, soundly and easily. However, he did know that the sun was no longer as high in the sky when he woke up as it had been when he’d drifted off. At that point, he felt like he was burning up from being under the sun for so long.

He got up from the pool chair he’d been laying on, neatly folding his towel up at the foot of it, before making his way towards the large pool of clear blue water.

Sitting down by the side of it, his back to the house, he dipped a foot into the pool, the other one soon joining in. It didn’t take two minutes for him to end up having water up to his hips. He was revelling in the feeling of the cool water against his skin, refreshing and feeling all around wonderful to him. He allowed himself to float off into it, his hair dampening considerably as he let himself sway away.

He’d done a few laps around the pool, now completely wet, when he finally noticed Louis standing a few feet away from the pool area. He froze, looking him over, and noticing how he was clad in one of his swimming suits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late, but whatever  
> xx


	19. XIX

Louis looked down at Harry, who had frozen in his place.

“D’you mind if I join you?” he asked shyly. He was fidgeting because of how nervous he was. And how stupid was that, really? Harry made him nervous, in the same way that he used to make him excited. Or maybe he always used to make him nervous, just in a different, more heartwarming way.

Harry shook himself out whatever state he’d momentarily been in, nodding to Louis’s intention. Louis answered him with a small smile, sitting down by the side of the pool. He didn’t miss the way Harry was now purposefully lingering in his spot, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by stepping towards him, but not wanting to make him feel like he was a bother to him by stepping away.

Louis dipped his feet in the water; it was just the right temperature, making his toes curl, but not in an unpleasant way. He kicked his legs around a bit, making ripples break across the surface of the water. “You know I won’t bite you, right?” he nonchalantly mentioned, now making circles in the water with his feet. It was truly mesmerising.

“I’m sorry?” Harry asked. His eyes were the only part of him that was moving, trailing over Louis’s face.

Louis shrugged. “I’ve been getting the feeling that you’re ‘handling me’ like you would a bomb about to explode. I’m not gonna blow up, H. You can quit all your worrying. I can tell that’s what you’ve been doing, worrying, I mean. You tend to get overly silent when you’ve got a lot to think over.” He let himself slide down into the pool, sinking down until he had water up to his elbows. He rubbed water over his arms, getting his skin wet before diving under.

When he resurfaced, he was glad to find that Harry had moved around a bit, stealing Louis’s spot by the edge of the pool. He was leaning against the side, elbows propped onto the floor by him.

Louis let himself fall back onto his back, floating around the pool. He spread his arms, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to just absorb the sunlight he was bathing in. He started moving his fingers, trying to feel the water slipping through them. Next, he wiggling his toes slightly, and he smiled wide. He felt free, and it was sort of stupid how he thought that while being wrapped in water, which could ultimately drown him if he were to let it. It must have really been true that the things that set humans free could quite easily kill them, too.

“Liberating, isn’t it?” Harry spoke up, vocalising Louis’s exact thoughts, and Louis barely understood his words through the distortion the water caused him to perceive.

He nodded, staying afloat while answering. “I’ve not felt this calm in a while. There’s always something we need to be doing, you know? And now, it feels sort of right for that thing to be that we’d get to relax.”

He could almost hear Harry’s smirk, but he also knew that Harry was holding it back, afraid to disturb Louis with it. “No yelling fans, no lying to the media; it’s just calm all around.”

Louis nodded, but he opened his eyes and slowly put his feet down to the bottom of the pool. “No one to bother us, just you and I.” Harry was staring at him in a way that made his skin crawl.

“And our healing time.”

Louis nodded. Somehow, that sounded perfect to hm. They weren’t trying to fix something, between them, since there was nothing to fix. The things which had been broken - trust, hearts and promises - _couldn’t_ be fixed. You could only let trust build itself back up; hearts could only be soothed; promises could only be replaced. And so they weren’t here to fix each other - that would be a simplistic view of an elaborate problem. They were here to allow each other - well, mainly Louis - time to heal.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

They watched each other for a few seconds, before Louis realised what was going on. Harry was walking on eggshells around him. No, not just Harry; they were walking on eggshells around each other. Harry was absolutely terrified of somehow hurting Louis, as if he were suddenly this gentle china doll that could be broken by the softest of touches, and Louis was afraid that he’d inadvertently do something that would have Harry running away to someone else. All the extra stress brought on by this state they were stuck in with each other was weighing down on Louis.

Harry seemed to sense that there was something going through Louis’s mind, and he managed to grasp that it had something to do with him, if what he said next was anything to go by. “I’m sorry.” Louis looked up, confused. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, you know I can just leave, go back in the house.”

He was about to leave, already turning around when Louis shook his head and raised a hand to stop him. “Stay.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded slowly.

“But Harry?” Louis needed to get Harry to see his way of thinking, and he needed to get his Harry back. But most of all, he needed the whole truth on what had happened months ago.

Harry hummed out a vague answer.

“Remember when I first told you, over three years ago, that I loved you?” He paused, but didn’t wait for an answer. “And well you have to know by now that I still do love you, right?” The words tasted sort of bitter, especially because of how dismissively he’d spoken them. “Well, then I’m just gonna let you in on a little secret.” He could see Harry playing with his fingers. He was nervous. “The guy I fell in love with wasn’t afraid of me. He wasn’t afraid of touching me, and he sure as hell wasn’t afraid to look at me. He knew that I could take a lot of shit, especially because of everything we had to go through just to be together, with Modest and all. Actually, he probably overestimated my capacity to take his shit, but that’s a story for another day. What I’m trying to say, Harry, is that the way you’ve been treating me - like I’m suddenly going to break down crying at the slightest disturbance - well I don’t like it. I’m not saying to start being all touchy-feely with me this soon, but don’t act, well, _like this_. Got it? If we’re gonna do this right, I need the Harry I know and love back. Not the one who treats me like a fragile object.”

Harry nodded, but held his breath. Something was still missing, something Louis wasn’t saying, and so he waited.

“I’ll never get better if you keep me from healing, you know? So just be you, and let me learn to cope again, on my own, or with you.”

“I can do that,” Harry said assuredly.

“So how about you start now?”

“I can do that,” Harry repeated.

Louis nodded. “Good. Then I’m going to rely on a quality that I still believe you have for what I’m about to ask; I need you to be completely honest with me, alright?” Harry visibly swallowed. “You mentioned how there was something else, something you hadn’t told me about. If I recall correctly, you told me that it was something bad. And I told you that I didn’t care. Well, now, I’m ready to care. I want to know what it is that happened.”

Harry met Louis’s gaze, and he looked bloody terrified. “Please know that I love you,” he whispered before he started really telling Louis. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m sure this is the most ready I’m ever going to be, Harry.”

“Okay.” Harry took his time to figure out how to say the following part. “I told you that the first time I cheated,” he cringed at the word, “it was with Nick, right?”

“Yes, get on with it, please,” Louis answered sourly.

“But I never mentioned who it was with the other two times.”

Louis looked genuinely confused. “You said it was him, too.”

Harry shook his head, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. “No, I purposefully never said anything about it. You just assumed it was him, but I never said anything.”

“Why?” Louis asked, and this time, it would be a lie to say that his tone was anything but aggressive. He felt vulnerable, and his reply to such an emotion was to attack.

“Because,” Harry said, “it wasn’t him.”

“What?” Louis yelled. His fists were clenched, his nails digging into his palms, and it was a good thing that their closest neighbours weren’t too near.

“The first time, it was,” Harry explained. “But the other two, it wasn’t. I’m so sorry; I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you at the time.”

Louis took a deep breath, hoping it might calm him down a bit. “Who was it with, then?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know either of them, and I didn’t care for them.”

“And you thought that I would prefer to think that the three times it had been Nick, rather than to know that it hadn’t been?”

“Yes.” Louis could almost hear how tight Harry’s throat was around his voice.

He tilted his head to the side. “Now why is that?” he asked, only partly out of genuine curiosity.

Harry exhaled loudly before speaking up. “Because then at least you wouldn’t think that I was looking for something that you didn’t have.”

Louis took a step towards Harry, pondering his following words. He traced his lower lip with his thumb, biting on it lightly. “You’re being entirely serious right now, aren’t you?” he asked, and when Harry nodded, he crossed the remaining distance between him and Harry, and before the latter had a chance to say anything, Louis’s fist was connecting hard with his jaw, sending a ringing pain through his entire right arm, but he knew that it would hurt Harry more than it had hurt him.

Harry didn’t try to hit Louis back, only stood up and took it as the smaller lad’s left fist connected with his chest with a surprising amount of strength. He brought his hands up to cradle where his jaw had been punched, holding back his tears.

Louis kept punching all over Harry, ignoring the wet gaze that kept focused on him, until the skin of his knuckles was starting to break open, and Harry had shed a few tears. At that point, he stepped back and glared at Harry.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” he spoke, his tone clipped.

“Well, yes, but why?” Harry asked in reply, praying to God that he didn’t sound arrogant.

“I spent bloody _months_ thinking that you had slept with Nick three times! Just picture it, Harry! Not only did I think that I hadn’t been good enough for you, but I also believed that you might have some type of feelings for Nick. You let me believe that you’d slept with him once, and that you’d then gone back again. Obviously I’d end up thinking that there might be something between the two of you! You fucking git...” He splashed water at Harry. “And you hadn’t thought about any of that, had you?”

“No… I’m so sorry, Louis, I had no idea,” he tried to say, but it might as well have fallen to deaf ears.

“I don’t care that you’re sorry, Harry. I’ve spent six months thinking that you might even be _in love_ with Grimshaw. The fact that you feel bad in no way makes up for that, nor will it ever.”

“I know,” Harry replied, “and I don’t mean to suggest any otherwise. But you have to know how sorry I am. If I’d known that that’s what you were thinking, I would have told you. I honestly thought that it would be best to let you think there had only been Nick.”

Louis smiled mockingly. “Guess it was all just an honest mistake then, right? No harm done?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well that’s what it fucking sounded like!”

And at that moment, when neither of them expected it to happen, Harry exploded. “You know what? This isn’t only my fault, all right? Maybe I’m the one who made all of this happen, but I felt like you were bloody pushing me towards it. For weeks beforehand you were pushing me away! You were paying everyone attention, everyone but me.”

“That’s not true!”

“Shut up for once in your goddamn life Tomlinson, and listen to me. I felt like you were taking me for granted, like I was something there to occupy you when no one else would or could. You ignored me and you treated me like shit, no wonder I thought that you were pushing me away. At first, I thought I might have done something, but then, when I realised that I hadn’t done piss all, it became worse. I thought that you’d gotten over me, that you might have stopped loving me. I thought that maybe you’d realised that the only real reason you’d been so convinced that you had been in love with me all along was because you’d never had the chance to look for someone better. And that made me go fucking mad! I tried to do anything and everything to get your attention back, but nothing worked. I kept feeling like I was nothing more than a warm body for you to sleep with at night. You got up in the morning without sparing a glance my way, you were out the front door before I could even slip a word in, you wouldn’t answer your fucking phone, and you’d only be back at piss hour in the night. So that’s when I cheated. And you know what? That’s what made you care. Maybe it wasn’t how I wanted you to care for me, but it was better than nothing, so I bloody took it with a smile.

“Nick had just so happened to be in the right place at the right time, or maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I really don’t care. Bottom line, I couldn’t have cared less that it happened with him. I was desperate to understand what was happening between us, and you weren’t there for me. And when the initial sting of my having cheated faded and you went back to being distant with me, I did it again. And once again, you gave me the time of day for it. And I know it was wrong of me, but I thought I’d already lost you. I thought that maybe you were already about to break up with me, about to call the entire engagement off and move out from our house. I thought I had nothing to lose. So when, once again, you started pushing me away, I cheated again. And although that turned out to have been the last straw for you, at least, now, I knew that you still loved me. I guess it was a bittersweet moment for me. I’m not saying I enjoyed it, but it was the confirmation that you hadn’t gotten over me. So now, tell me that I’m the only one to blame, go ahead. But just know that you broke me before I had the time to do anything to you.”

Louis was staring at him with eyes wide with a mix of fear and sadness. His mouth was being covered by his hand, and he had started shaking because of how he was crying. “You never… you never told me any of that,” he spoke, voice cut off by his tears. “I had no idea,” he cried.

Harry wiped at the corner of his eyes with his fingertips, avoiding Louis’s gaze. “What was I supposed to tell you? Was I supposed to ask you if you still loved me? Louis, I was too afraid of what the answer was going to be to even think about asking you that.”

Louis shook his head. “I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, well that makes two of us, then,” Harry replied.

“Can I at least tell you why I was pulling away from you, or is it too late for that? Because you’re right, I was trying to distance myself from you. I didn’t think that it would affect you like that, though.”

Harry shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Louis looked at his feet under the water. “They were going to make us get engaged. Make a big affair out of it.”

“What?” Harry asked, completely lost.

Louis looked up at him. “El and I. Management was going to fake an engagement, make a big story out of it. Have us plan the fake wedding and get our families to talk about it. They were going to get so many of these big magazines to write stories about it and it would all seem like a fairy-tale. El was going to be seen everywhere with me, and management was even going to get you and the guys to talk about how excited you all were for our marriage.” Louis looked broken, but he still went on. “I just couldn’t allow that to happen, I knew how bad it would be for the two of us, H. So I figured that if I made it seem like we weren’t anything more than friends anymore, I figured that if I managed to convince management of that, then they might call the whole thing off.”

Harry nodded. “And you didn’t think that you might manage to convince me that we were no longer anything more than friends, too?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Harry nodded. He pulled himself out of the pool, sitting down on the edge of it with his legs still dangling in the water. “I guess we both forgot how to use our heads for a while.”

And Louis laughed. After everything that had just happened, he laughed. “Yeah.” He pulled himself up to sit next to Harry, parts of their legs touching. He looked down at his hands crossed over his lap, and he smiled sadly. “I’m not saying I forgive you for cheating, but I will tell you that I understand. And I am sorry. You know that, right?”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I know. And don’t worry, I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for this, I wouldn’t even forgive myself, like ever.”

Louis nodded. He kicked at the still surface of the water with his feet, disturbing it. “I guess we’ve still got a long way to go in order for us to be fixed, right?”

Harry shook his head from side to side, eyeing Louis cautiously. “We don’t need fixing. We just need healing.”

Louis smiled, and nodded once again. “You’re right.” He got up, and gestured for Harry to do the same. “Come on, let’s go get you some ice for your jaw, and I need to bandage my fists up.” He started walking, but shot out over his shoulder at Harry, “I hope you realise that I in no way regret punching you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, but hopefully you still like this!
> 
> Kisses


	20. XX

Louis bent down, reaching in the freezer for an ice pack to give Harry. He rummaged around, only finding the hard ones. He decided to take one of those out, wrapping it up with a hand towel and handing it over to Harry.

“Hold that against your cheek. If the swelling or colour hasn’t gone down by the time management flies us back to London, we’re gonna be in so much shit,” Louis mumbled, walking around Harry and out of the kitchen.

Harry followed him out. “What about your fist?” Louis turned around, eyeing him curiously. “I mean, like, it’s sort of a giveaway that you were the one who punched me if your knuckles are all swollen, right?”

Louis nodded, heading for the staircase leading to the upper floor. He climbed the stairs two by two, Harry close behind. He led them towards the master bedroom, only pausing slightly before walking into it. He then made his way towards the master bathroom.

He opened the cupboard above the sink and reached into it, pushing aside a few items, a few others falling to the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Harry asked.

Louis huffed out a breath, not turning around to answer him. “The gauze. Didn’t we use to keep it in this bathroom?” He cringed involuntarily; it was like a stab to the heart to talk about something as little as where they used to keep their stuff, back when they lived together. He brushed it off, continuing to look through the cupboard. “Oh my God, this cupboard really isn’t that big, it can’t just have disappeared!”

He closed the cupboard, opening the drawers and looking through them. A few minutes passed by in silence before Louis pulled out the gauze, a large smile set on his face.

“Found it!”

Harry took it from him, holding it in his hand that wasn’t cradling an ice pack to his cheek. He gestured for Louis to follow him. Louis quickly grabbed a washrag and followed Harry down. When they were back in the kitchen, Harry put the washrag under the faucet for a few seconds and asked Louis to hand him his right fist. He gently rubbed at it, trying to get all the excess blood that was now caked to his skin off.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Louis answered.

“What happened outside?”

Louis shrugged. “What’s there to talk about?” He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to think about it. Harry dabbed at his hand particularly hard, making Louis wince. “Fuck, H, be careful, would ya?”

Harry nodded, but other than that, he kept working at Louis’s hand.

Louis returned to the subject Harry had brought up. “I mean, you’ve been holding out information on me for what? Six months now? That’s half a year. No, seven months, if you consider that that’s when I’d gotten the news of my fake engagement to Eleanor. And every time I tried to get you to talk, you’d come up with some bullshit excuse as to what had happened. I don’t get it.”

Louis’s knuckles were almost free of blood now, although they were somewhat swollen. “What don’t you get?” Harry calmly asked. This used to be a tactic he’d use on Louis a lot back when they were together, to get him to talk. He knew exactly what Louis meant, but the best way to get him to open up was to make him admit it himself, not to play a game of guessing.

Louis shrugged. “Like, you had a reason -”

“Not a reason,” Harry nicely cut in. “There are no reasons that justify cheating, Louis. Please understand that.”

“Okay then. You had a mindset of insecurities and of doubts and of fears. You had this entire idea of how we were about to break up, and I mean, that was on me, I know that, so don’t bother telling me that it wasn’t. I didn’t communicate what was going on, yatea yetea yata. I didn’t tell you what I was going through, and I assumed you’d get it, or maybe I figured you’d rather actually not know. I don’t know; whatever, really. That’s not the important part.

“But to me, when you cheated, it came out of nowhere,” Lou continued. “I hadn’t been expecting it - really, how could I have been? Okay, let me rephrase. What I’m trying to say is that all along, I was trying so hard to figure out why you’d done it and like what had been going on for you, but each time I’d tried to talk to you about it or tried to get you to explain, you’d throw around some bullshit answers that made no sense and hope that I’d figure it out on my own. But now, you’ve finally explained it to me, and like… why? Why not tell me sooner? I _don’t get it_. You could have literally told me months ago, and we’d probably be so much further along in the healing process. Why did you wait? Why didn’t you tell me? Why?”

Harry waited a few seconds, allowing Louis to take a bit of a break before he’d answer him. Plus, he wanted to make sure that Louis had gotten it all out before he started to talk. When a few moments passed by and Louis still showed no interest in adding something to what he’d already said, Harry opened his mouth. “I know it doesn’t make any sense right now, so I won’t try to explain it too in depth. Now that I have the ability to look back and judge what happened, I can’t exactly pinpoint to what was holding me back. I guess maybe a mix of everything.”

“What was ‘everything’?” Louis cut in.

Harry smiled and continued talking like he would have had Louis not interrupted. “I was scared, I’ll admit it. I had no idea how you’d react to what I had to say, absolutely none. But that wasn’t the only thing, nor was it the most important, and by far. I know how what I said sounded. It sounded like I was taking the blame off of me, and putting it onto you instead and I am sorry for that, because that’s not at all what I wanted. And that’s why I waited so long before telling you. I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to excuse myself, and I didn’t know how to make it sound like that wasn’t what I was doing. I’m sorry”

Louis was nodding along to everything Harry was saying, allowing it all to register. It made sense in some part of him; Harry had always been sort of like that, never wanting to blame others if he believed that he was to blame. It made sense that that wouldn’t change just because he’d made one of, if not the biggest mistake of their relationship. “I mean, I won’t say that it’s fine, because I don’t really know if anything’s fine at this point. But I will tell you that I’m glad I know. Before, it really felt like what happened had come out of the blue completely. At least now I’ve got a bit of a context to work with, you know?”

Harry nodded, finishing up wiping away the blood from both of Louis’s hands. The right one was the most hurt, but the left one had also gone through a substantial amount of damage. Harry turned around, picking the gauze up from where it was resting on the countertop, and started to wrap Louis’s knuckles up. He watched both Louis’s face and knuckle attentively, alternating quickly between the two, trying to catch any signs of discomfort on Louis’s face. When he saw him wince slightly, he let up a bit. “Yeah, I guess I can sort of relate, obviously not entirely, but still. Like now I know why you were pulling away, and that feels good.”

Louis shook his hand a bit, trying to get Harry to stop wrapping it up and instead pay full attention to him. “H. I really don’t think I apologised enough for that. So I’m sorry. And I know that I’ve always said how you can say one thing, but your actions are what define you - actions speak louder than words, right? But anyways, I needed to apologise. So here I am, saying I’m sorry, because I am.” Louis laughed. “I really guess we need to work on our communicating skills if we want to be even friends one day.”

Harry nodded seriously, meeting Louis’s gaze. “Agreed.” He smiled shyly, looking back down to finish up with the first of Louis’s hands. He then moved on to Louis’s other hand, working at it the gentlest he could. “You know those flowers I sent you a while back, with the card that said that I’d make it up to you?”

Louis blinked. Where was this coming from? “Yeah… I answered by indirecting you Britney Spears lyrics.”

“And do you remember that time, I mean, it was _way_ back, when I’d given you a single white rose?”

“Yeah, I think I do. Details are bit hazy but I can definitely recall that happening.” He winced when Harry tied the gauze too tight, and Harry noticed. “Why?”

“White means a lot of things; peace, innocence and honesty being only a few. And Lou, we were so innocent back then; the media hadn’t gotten into our heads at the time, but also, _we hadn’t gotten under each other’s skin yet_.”

“Yeah...back then, you were new to me.” Louis laughed. “I know this might sound terrible, but at this point, you’re sort of like a drug to me.”

Harry tilted his head, agreeing to that statement. “Well, to me, now, that single white rose sort of symbolised our innocence. We didn’t really know each other; we were just getting to know the other. When I sent you the bouquet of flowers recently, it meant something, all of it,” Harry continued.

“I mean, I’m not thick. The yellow meant forgiveness, the white meant like hope and honesty and the red one meant love.” He closed his mouth, tilted his head and then added something. “And there was only one red rose, because love is the rarest thing. And the thorns to remind us of how it can also hurt.”

“Yeah, but there’s also a bit more.” Harry smiled genuinely, finishing up on Louis’s injuries.

“Jesus Christ, Harry, we aren’t playing hit or miss, just tell me for fuck’s sake.”

Harry reached for his ice pack and put it against his jaw. “Fine.” He laughed. “There was only one red rose, but there were literally dozens of flowers of other colours, I think. I mean, that’s what I ordered, I didn’t actually see them. And you mentioned the thorns, right? Well, I’m just going to assume that you hadn’t seen the thorns when the red one had still been in the bouquet.”

Louis smirked. “You can bet. When I pulled it out, I pricked my finger on one of them.”

Harry’s eyes were overcome with worry. “Were you okay though? I should have thought about that, I’m sorry. It was a shit idea.”

They walked towards their living room, dropping down into the sofas. “Of course I was fine, I barely bled at all. Now just keep explaining you dickhead.”

Harry smiled. “So the thing is when the red rose was in the middle of all the other flowers, you didn’t notice the thorns. It’s only when you picked it apart from the rest that you got stung, or whatever it is that thorns do. So it’s like, if you surround your love with hope, trust and honesty, and you forgive each other’s mistakes - I’m not saying you forget them, absolutely not, and I’m not saying you have to forgive me anytime soon, no, I’m saying that I’m working for your trust and forgiveness - well if you do that, then you won’t hurt each other because you’ll have hidden the potential dangers.”

Louis’s jaw dropped. He’d understood. “You fucking romantic, you’d really thought the entire thing out, hadn’t you.”

Harry shrugged. “But like, if you _don’t_ do that, your love will be a dangerous and consuming one.”

“And I’m gonna put my money on the fact that this has something to do with the white rose you gave me all those years ago.”

Harry nodded sheepishly. “This was sort of my way of saying that I’d do it right this time. Before, we were naive and innocent, and we threw ourselves at each other without actually thinking it through enough. This time, we’ll have protection.”

“You can never have enough protection,” Louis winked. Oh, so they were allowed to be playful now.

Harry smiled. “Isn’t that what you said the first time we had sex?”

Louis could feel his cheeks getting warm, and he mumbled out, “Says the guy who answered ‘You know we can’t actually get each other pregnant, right?’”

Harry pouted. “Hey, I was young, okay; I didn’t know why you wanted to use protection.”

Louis smiled and laughed. He put his hands up in resignation, enjoying this side of Harry. He didn’t get to see him all that often nowadays, almost afraid of what would happen if he did. “Let’s not talk about this, okay?”

“Deal.”

Maybe they were getting somewhere after all, Louis thought. Maybe they would get somewhere after all, he wanted to say. But instead, what he said was, “I love you, you know?”

Harry’s face melted, leaving behind a warm and fuzzy expression, but also one that was a bit sad. “Yeah, I do.”

“But for now, all I can do is be your friend. Is that okay?”

Harry smiled fondly. “Yeah, of course Louis. That’s never been a question to me. You take all the time you need.”

Louis nodded.

They sat like that, looking at each other, and around each other, and at everything but each other. They did this for whoever knows how long, it could have been ten minutes, but it could also have been ten hours. They didn’t really need to do anything; they were both entirely content with just sitting back and staying silent. They didn’t get to do that all too often, so it felt good to take the time and sit back, just relaxing when they could.

“Just for the record, I love you too,” Harry whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the two week wait between chapters instead of weekly updates. I'm nearing the end of the school year and I mean I'm currently failing a few subjects so I'm trying to concentrate on that a lot...
> 
> Also, **I was thinking of switching updates over to Saturdays (like East coast time)** , so this was just to let you know! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy this one! 
> 
> P.S.: Also, my apologies for the really cheesy ending. Just to be clear, both Harry and Louis know that they still have so much work to do, but there is a very important difference between loving someone and trusting them (I'm pretty sure I mentioned this in a previous chapter). 
> 
> Kisses


	21. XXI

Louis woke up the following morning with an uncomfortable crick in his neck and a patch of slobber on his shoulder - his own slobber, mind you. He had stayed up late last night and had eventually fallen asleep sitting on the couch, just slowly drifting away until it was too much of an effort to open his eyelids one more time. It hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea at the time, but waking up in this position wasn’t all too fun. He really should learn to be better at planning, maybe he should think ahead a bit more often. He shook his head out, trying to get his neck to stop hurting, but only actually managed to pull something in his shoulder.

“Ah well fuck,” he hissed out, raising his hand over his shoulders to rub against his upper back. He tried to dig circles into the muscle, hissing out lowly as the pain intensified for a few seconds at a time.

Harry was lying across the other couch, his feet tucked in at an awkward angle beneath his body with his arm bent under his head in a way that seemed like it wouldn’t be all too comfortable. Louis could follow the slow movements of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled quietly, a soft snore rising up from his mouth. His eyelids were starting to flutter slightly, a sign that Louis had a long time ago learned meant Harry was breaking off from his sleep to slowly creep back into consciousness.

Louis tried stretching a bit again, still massaging his trapezoid, and he noticed that this time, it didn’t hurt quite as badly. He next tried turning his head from right to left, chin to shoulder on both sides. He gradually started moving his head at a faster pace, and when he’d finally reached a speed he’d deem would be “normal,” he stopped. He sighed out happily, the crick visibly less painful now, although not entirely gone yet.

He stood up, weighing out whether he should wake Harry up too so he could get him to make them pancakes or if he should try to bake them himself. It took him the best part of two minutes but he ended up walking into the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereals.

He rummaged through the cereal cupboard, cursing out how they seemed to only have wheat or bran companies. He closed the cupboard and went to the fridge, pulling out the bread for himself. He took two slices of it and put them down on the counter. He pulled out a plate and the chocolate spread, along with a knife, laying a thick coat of the chocolate onto both slices. Turning around, Louis started up the coffee machine. He put his mug underneath it, waiting until he heard the faint trickle of warm liquid falling into his cup before he turned around. That’s when he noticed Harry standing a few feet behind him.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice was still rough from sleep, and he kept blinking his eyes as though the sun was being a real nuisance to him. He smiled softly, coughed a few times and looked back at Louis. “You could’ve woken me up; I could’ve made you French toast or something. I really wouldn’t have minded.”

Louis cringed slightly, as an afterthought hoping that Harry wouldn’t notice. He knew Harry wouldn’t have minded if Louis had woken him, but at this point, it was hard for Louis to figure out what was okay for them and what wasn’t. Building up a relationship didn’t mean to jump back into the tide right away; it meant to slowly let yourself sink into the water. Is was a lot of work to keep from being pulled in too far by the current, and it required a lot of tolerance to survive how the too cold water would slowly be making its way further and further up his skin. “I know.” Louis took his cup of coffee, putting it against his lips. He blew softly against it, looking at Harry. “I just don’t know how much time we’ve got here. Wouldn’t want to keep you from having a few extra minutes of sleep, we both know how important they can be.” It wasn’t a complete lie, and it made sense, of course, so Louis trusted that Harry wouldn’t look too far into it.

Harry smiled, wiping at his eyes with his fist, trying to force sleep to leave his body a bit faster than how it was going at this point. “Well thanks then. But next time, don’t hesitate, okay?”

Louis nodded, his throat tight. He took a sip of his still too warm coffee, burning his tongue on it but swallowing the bitterness nonetheless, hoping it might loosen the knot that was in the middle of his throat.

“Do you want like cream or sugar for that?” Harry asked, nodding at Louis’s mug in his hands as he was already heading for the refrigerator.

Louis shook his head, taking another sip. “Nah, I’m fine, I started drinking it black a few months ago.” Upon seeing Harry’s grimace, Louis smiled. “It’s not as bad as you’d think, I’m just saying. You’d think it tastes really bitter or whatever - and okay, yeah, it does - but you get used to it pretty quickly. At least I did.” He took a bite of his slice of bread, offering a bite up to Harry, who gladly accepted. He moved a bit closer to Louis, leaning against the counter right next to him.

“God, you put so much chocolate on this,” he mumbled through a mouthful.

Louis grimaced at him. “If you don’t like it, well then don’t eat it! No one’s forcing you to eat this, Harry,” he said in his most nagging tone possible. He elbowed Harry in the ribs, taking his chocolate spread covered breakfast back. “Do you want me to fix you up some coffee?” he asked, already starting to prepare it the way he knew Harry liked it.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Louis poured him a cup, handing it over to him. Harry thanked him and opened the fridge, pouring some cream into the black coffee. He dropped a bit of sugar into it, mixing it for a few seconds before starting to drink it.

“You know,” Harry started after a while, “I thought about it, and I think it would be good to explain to the boys what happened.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Not just why we broke up, but maybe how we were before it happened, and how we’re coping now. Maybe we should try to explain to them what we’re trying to accomplish now, like be friends and all that.”

Louis looked up at him, a vague look of alarm in his eyes. “Why?”

“I mean, not necessarily now; it’s just an idea.” He sighed. “I just feel like it could give us a bit of closure of some sort? I feel like I owe it to you, and to them, so they know what happened.”

Louis shook his head. Yes, he wanted to be honest with the boys and he wanted them to know what was going on, but he didn’t feel like he wanted to relive what had happened again, like he always did when he talked about it. “I don’t want them to take sides. This isn’t their fight. If we tell them what happened, they’re inevitably going to try to side with someone.”

Harry nodded, although he didn’t necessarily agree. Zayn hadn’t tried to pick a side when he’d found out. “Of course, I entirely agree, this isn’t their fight. But maybe if we told them that, they wouldn’t feel so pressured to ‘ally’ with someone.”

Louis smiled a bit, finishing up his bread. He let a calm silence settle between the two of them before he spoke up again. “Let me just think about it, okay?”

Harry turned away, walking out to living room. Louis followed behind him, sipping on his cup of coffee. “Yes, absolutely,” Harry answered. Harry sat down in a recliner, his eyes training after Louis as he sat down in a couch. It really seemed like they were spending the better part of their time away from the job by remaining caged in between four walls.

If only there were a way for them to get out, see the world together again; and maybe nature would teach them where they were standing now, together. As of the present, though, being at a standstill would have to do, because as soon as they walked their pale selves outside - man were they in desperate need of some sunlight, being caged in was _not_ doing it for either of their tans - the media would be all up in their business, doing their job like the good lap dogs they were and revealing the two boys’ location to Modest. Man did Louis not want that. He was tired of being caged in, tired of being hidden away, and tired of being alone against the world.

“You’re not alone against the world, you know,” Harry spoke up softly, because apparently Louis had been thinking out loud. Nasty habit, that was. “You’ve got the boys, and you’ve got our families, and you’ve got a shitload of other people who would do anything for you. And, well, you’ve got me.” Louis laughed. Yeah, he used to have Harry, but that was back then. They might be on better terms now, but they still weren’t back to being in each other’s camps. “Okay, fair enough, but just remember that I’ll always be there for you.”

Louis wrapped his hands tighter around his half empty mug. “You weren’t always there for me.” That sentence came out with a laugh, but it still wasn’t bitter. Maybe he was finally coming to terms with what had happened. Maybe not. Maybe it was for the best, and maybe it was just best to let all things play out. The only thing Louis knew right now was that for once, there hadn’t been a squeezing deep in his stomach when he had talked about something vaguely related to their breakup and everything that had led up to it.

Harry nodded, his gaze solemn but the crinkles by his eyes giving away his ease. “Yeah, well if I remember correctly, neither were you. We were both shitty boyfriends, trust me, I get it; but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care. One doesn’t rule out the other.” He smiled at Louis. “Now for being caged in, I’m not sure how on board you’re going to be with this one, but why not just run? Go places we never had time to visit as a band.”

“Like what? We’ve been everywhere.”

“I don’t know! We could go anywhere. Like the New England aquarium, in Boston, we’ve not been there.” Harry threw his hands up in emphasis.

“What would we do there?”

“We would visit the pyramids,” Harry replied, a blank expression on his face. “What do you think we would do? We’d look at the fish. And the sharks. And the whales. And whatever other sea creatures they have there.”

“Management will catch us,” Louis pointed out. “It’s a public site, anyone could alert the media.” He paused, looking up at Harry. “Anyone would.”

“So what, let them find us. We’ve got money; we can escape, and fast. Keep the charade up, tour the world in a way we’ve never done before.”

Louis smiled. “What about being hidden away.” He crossed his legs and smiled at Harry. “And by that, I don’t mean that we’re the ones being hidden, more like we are always hiding something from someone. A part of us, if you will.”

Harry looked up at Louis intently, making Louis squirm slightly in his seat. He’d never been immune to that look that Harry was giving him, and he really doubted he ever would be. No amount of practice could make him used to this. “Well then, what is it that we’re hiding, right now?” Harry paused. “I know that it used to be that we were dating, but we’re not together anymore, so it can’t be that. Is it the reason why we broke up? Is that what we’re hiding?” He looked at Louis again, possibly trying to gauge his reaction to what he was saying. Louis nodded shyly. “If that’s it, then the only way I can see to get rid of that weight would be to tell the boys, and anyone close to us who doesn’t know. Anyone we’d want to know, really.”

Louis sighed. This conversation was getting a lot more serious by the minute. “I just… I can’t. There are so many people that we would need to tell, Harry. And each of them would ask so many questions. I’m barely able to make sense of everything that happened, how do you expect me to make others understand it?”

Harry looked at him deeply, a fond kind of gleam in his eyes. His head was tilted to the side ever so slightly, and he had a ghost of a smile on his lips. He let a pregnant pause fill the space between them, just looking at Louis. “Louis, you are such a nice and caring person, it’s unbelievable,” Harry finally started, speaking slowly and softly, as if he were afraid to wake somebody. “But for the time being, you absolutely have to remember that this isn’t their problem to understand. What’s going on between us isn’t anyone else’s but ours to understand. We want them to know and acknowledge what happened, but we will never ask them to try and make sense of it.” He smiled genuinely. “Plus, you’ve got to remember that I’ll be there with you, telling them - if we decide to tell anyone. You won’t be alone; I’ll be there to help.”

“Okay.” A simple answer to a question that was never asked.

“However, you’re telling me that it feels like there’s a weight on your shoulders, right?” Louis nodded. “I think it’s safe to say that at this point, we’ve learned that the best way to remedy that is to let other people in on it.”

Louis nodded. He sat back in the couch, nursing his cup of coffee until the last drop had fallen down his throat, and then gently laying it down on the coffee table at his feet. It took him a few minutes, but eventually, Louis was hit with a passing thought: why did Harry want to tell others what had happened so badly? Louis narrowed his eyes at Harry, not in an interrogating way, but more in a curious one. “If you don’t mind my asking, why is it that you so want to tell people all of a sudden?”

Harry put down his own cup of coffee, looking directly at Louis. “Have you ever seen a sunrise, but I mean like really _seen_ it?” He waited for Louis to nod before continuing. “It’s so majestic, like all these colours merging together into a pastel, warm one, it can truly seem otherworldly sometimes. And it’s awakening, makes you reflect on how you’re living your life, I mean, it made me do that at least. But then, when it’s fading away, you can actually see it leaving you before it does. And although you know that there will always be that other sky, a light blue that will always be waiting for you, it can absolutely never be as brilliant as that previous mix of colours? And you would do anything to have that sunrise again, because no two mornings are ever the same. You were my sunrise, Louis, you always have been and you always will be.”

His eyes were looking deep into Louis’s, and it made Louis feel like Harry could read into the darkest parts of him. “Sap,” he choked out, his throat back to being tight.

Harry laughed. “I’m being serious. I would do anything to have you back to your luminous, brightening self, even if that can’t be with me. And I know you won’t be able to do that, to be that, until you’ve had that weight lifted off of you.”

Louis sucked his lower lip into his mouth. “I believe that that’s part of it. But where’s the other part?”

Harry sighed. “I also want to give us a fresh plate to start on. Make place for new ghosts by freeing our old ones. Plus, if we lay everything down for others, it might make us realise where we’re standing at.”

Louis nodded. “Fair enough.” He bent over slightly, reaching for a pen and paper that had been discarded on the coffee table. “Could we make a list of people who already know? And maybe one of people we’d want to know? That way it could help me figure out what we’re facing?”

Harry nodded.

It took them the rest of the morning and up until two in the afternoon to be able to decide on a decent list of people that they wanted to tell. Actually telling them would be the hard part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm putting this out on late Thursday/early Friday because this is the latest I will be having access to my computer until Tuesday. I am still planning to switch this over to make it into a Saturday update story. 
> 
> Hopefully you like this, let me know what you think! 
> 
> xx Ju


	22. XXII

Harry and Louis were both in one of their neighbour’s house - Angela Wright, - waiting by her phone for Zayn to call. They were sure both their cell phones were being taped, as would be their landline here. Zayn’s phone would probably be under surveillance, though, which meant that they couldn’t call him themselves. It would look rather suspicious if he received a call from Los Angeles. So they had arranged for him to go get a disposable phone. He had visited them a year ago in L.A., so he knew Mrs. Wright, and he would get an operator to connect them. Louis hadn’t left London a few weeks ago without a plan; that all needed to be said. He and Zayn had agreed that they would speak every week, and that deal still stood.

“Now darlings, I’ll just be out on the patio if you need me,” Angela said, a hand gripping the patio door firmly as she opened it, looking over her shoulder at the two men. She smiled at them, a genuine smile that would lift anyone’s spirit. She was a truly beautiful woman, both for her personality and appearance. “Help yourselves to anything you find; Therese and I have no secrets or shame.”

Louis smiled at her as she turned around. “Thanks love, we really do appreciate it.”

Harry also thanked her with a wave, although she wouldn’t see the gesture, as her back was already to them.

She walked outside, closing the door behind her as she went and sat down beside her wife. Harry and Louis could hear the faint chattering that started up afterwards, almost like a distant whisper.

Louis looked up at Harry, a smile gracing his features. “Don’t they just make up the most beautiful couple?” Harry nodded his agreement. “I’m pretty sure they were already living here when we moved in. Or maybe they were about to move in, I’m not sure.”

"You have terrible memory then, love. They moved in two years ago," Harry sighed, although he didn't seem all that torn up about it.

"Really? Never would've guessed… Anyway, what I meant was that it seems like they’ve been together for ages."

"You're the worst," Harry easily said fondly, shaking his head just as the phone started to ring. He picked up quickly, putting it on speaker for Louis to hear too.

"Hey Zayn, you're on," Louis offered, fingers already starting to drum against the countertop of the kitchen’s island. He wasn't nervous, he tried to reassure himself...he was simply being cautious with giving full reign to his ease.

He heard some ruffling on the other end, a few muttered cursed words and finally a clear voice. "You're on too, although I'd better warn you, I didn't go full out on this phone, so the quality of both the speaker and receiver might not be top notch." More ruffling, and then Zayn started talking again. "Li and Ni can also hear you too, by the way."

Liam and Niall both spoke up, making their presence well known. Louis had asked for the two of them to be on the line too, when he’d spoken to Zayn the last time. He hadn’t been planning to do this, but it had just ended up being a good coincidence that he would take advantage of. "I'm just gonna put it out there that you're really big bastards for not warning us that you would both be leaving. And as your co-worker, I'm also gonna tell you that this isn't your brightest move," Liam tacked onto his greeting.

Harry eyed Louis, a special glint in his eyes. "And what about as our friend?" he asked.

Liam pondered it, but there was no mystery behind what he was going to say. "As your friend, I'm gonna leave it at: you were both in desperate need for this break. Plus, if management asks, the last I heard was that the two of you had eloped to Iceland."

Louis smiled and nudged Harry in the ribs as he answered. "Liam, you know that this isn't a romantic vacation. We haven't 'eloped' anywhere." He paused, perhaps for dramatic effect, more likely to decide whether he should say this next thing. As usual, Louis figured it would be well worth the risk. "Plus, you've dangerously underestimated my knowledge of romance if you think that I would've brought Harry out to a house we own, in a city he's most likely spent more time in than he's spent in London, as an exotic vacation or whatever. " He dramatically sighed, and couldn't help but notice how amused Harry seemed. "It's sad how little you've all come to think of me." Louis caught Angela and her wife, Therese, waving at them from the corner of his eye. He waved back.

Harry’s hand gently dropped onto Louis’s forearm and squeezed slightly. Louis looked at him, and smiled. Harry had that amazed look in his eyes. Harry leaned in to whisper. “Where would we have gone?”

Louis tensed slightly under this gesture, but kept his calm. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the pyramids, or an aquarium,” he whispered back. If his voice had been a decibel louder, they both would have been able to hear it wavering.

Harry almost winked at Louis; Louis could see it all over his face. But he didn’t. Which was probably good, because this was already hard on Louis, this thing that was going on between them. Friendly banter. Friendly flirting. All very platonic. “And that’s better than staying at home?” Louis knew that Harry had understood what he meant, that he had understood that Louis was accepting to go out to an open and public place with him. Harry smiled.

They were still keeping their voices low enough to make sure they wouldn’t reach the other end of the line. Louis shrugged. “We can stay home any other day.” Louis subtly shrugged Harry’s hand off of his forearm by patting his cheek.

Harry was about to speak when there was a loud and obnoxious coughing on the other end of the phone. They both looked at the phone in surprise, Louis’s eyebrows going up and hiding underneath his fringe.

“It’s not like we want to interrupt you both while you’re doing whatever - and trust me when I say that I really don’t want to know what ‘whatever’ means in this context - but we are on a continent where management can get to us,” Niall cut in. “So if you don’t mind moving it on, it might make things vaguely less awkward on our end of the line.”

“Fine,” Louis agreed, slightly relieved for the interruption; he wasn’t all that sure how he could keep on with his ‘whatever’ with Harry.

“And for your information,” Harry added, “we were just talking.” Someone snickered loudly on the other end, and if Louis had to bet, his money would be that Zayn was that someone.

Louis wanted to smack Zayn behind the head. “We are _just friends_ , Zayn. Friends can talk without it being anything else, and without any hidden motives. Seriously, you three insult me,” he bitterly remarked instead.

He looked over at Harry, but Harry wasn’t looking back at him. He was staring down at the landline on the counter, eyes clouded over with some kind of emotion that Louis didn’t really want to question the identity of. He still kept his eyes on him for slightly longer than would be necessary, just because he could. He had spent several months trying to do anything but remind himself of the breakup, and Harry had been one of his biggest reminders. He had earned this, at this point.

“Fine,” Zayn said. “But I still agree with Niall. I want to know why you wanted to talk to us. Spit it out.”

Louis bit his tongue, keeping his reply - _I usually swallow, actually_ \- unsaid.

Harry looked up at Louis, meeting his gaze. Louis nodded for him to speak up. Harry still spoke in a cautious manner. “So, Louis and I have been in the same house for a few days now, right? Might have been over a week.” He let the silence blow up like a balloon before continuing. “And so we’ve gotten a lot of time to speak things over, and we came up with a few things that might help us become better. Obviously, the first of these was to find space and manage to land on the same page. Wait, does that make sense?”

He seemed to search the answer on Louis’s face, so the latter rephrased. “We wanted to make sure we both had the same ideas in mind, regarding _us_ , and that we agreed on how to take them on.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, that. Anyways, we’ve obviously managed the space part, and we’ve talked things out enough to figure out what we wanted and all that. We’ve gone over the breakup, and the reasons for it, and the buildup for it, and the aftermath, and - _God, is it just me? I feel like I’m talking about sex_.” Louis almost laughed, but he was thankfully able to turn it into a shy chuckle instead.

“It’s fine, Harry. I’m sure they get it, but for future reference, don’t use all three words ‘reasons,’ ‘buildup’ and ‘aftermath’ in the same sentence again.” He nudged Harry lightly afterwards, urging him to go on.

Harry nodded. “Umm, well anyways, we realised that we were both missing parts of the story.” Louis could see Zayn’s confused gaze, or maybe he wasn’t confused at all. Maybe he understood that nothing of this whole cheating ordeal could be as simple as either of them wanted it to be. “And we filled in the missing blanks, if that makes any sense.”

Harry took a deep breath, ready to keep talking, but Louis started speaking before him, feeling like it was unfair to put all the weight of telling the others on Harry. “So we ended up with a small list of things that were making it hard for us to move on, I guess.” He looked up at Harry, trying to calm down his racing heart and hoping to stop his hands from shaking. This was so hard; Harry had made it seem way easier than it was really. If Louis had the heart to care, he’d be pretty sure that he’d notice how his voice was trembling and how he was stuttering through his words. He looked up into Harry’s eyes again, searching for approval to keep on talking. When he found it, he started up again. “I mean, it was a pretty short list, but a list nonetheless. Most of it was just stuff I was thinking and accidentally ended up saying, but we agreed afterwards that it was all shared feelings.” Harry nodded him along. “The first thing was that I felt sort of...I guess...alone against the world? It’s hard to describe, you know, but that’s pretty much it. I also felt kind of caged in, right? Oh goddamn it, this feels stupid, I hate going through my feelings with others.”

Harry looked at him. “Do you want me to pick up there? I don’t mind.”

Louis shook his head. As much as he hated to do this, he really needed to. It was sort of his way of facing things. He breathed in and let it out slowly, counting to three before starting to talk again. “And the last thing was that I felt like there was this whole part of me that I was always keeping hidden away, whatever it may be.” He looked directly at Harry, possibly searching for support of some kind. “And in this case it was everything surrounding our breakup.”

Harry gently put his hand down over Louis’s arm again, but this time, Louis felt no need to pull away. “So this is why we had you call. We want to give you a choice. We can either tell you all through the phone, or you can wait for us to tell you in person. It’s your decision entirely,” Harry completed.

He and Louis shared a look, both visibly deflating after this. It was now on the other boys.

There was a short silence between them all before someone spoke up.

“How much would you say that I know?” Zayn asked quietly, which seemingly made Liam and Niall wake up.

“Wait, you knew?”

“How long?”

There was visibly some arguing happening on the other end, but Louis easily cut through it. “Well, you’re missing rather a lot, but I’d say you know the vague guidelines of what I knew before I talked it through with Harry a few days ago.”

He could hear Zayn’s smirk through the phone. “So not much then?”

Harry hummed noncommittally. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d just maybe say you don’t know enough to really understand.”

There was no sound for a few seconds, and then mixed voices over the phone. Neither Harry nor Louis bothered with trying to keep up with what was going on for the other three boys. They simply stayed silent, which Louis figured didn’t seem to bother Harry too much. Finally, after a loose five minutes, the other three seemed to have come to a consensus, as they quieted down.

“So we’ve come to a conclusion,” Liam spoke up, stating the obvious. “We want you to tell us now, so we can think about it while you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing over in America, and then when you come back, we’ll be able to ask questions if we have any.” He paused. “Would that be good?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah man, that’s fine by us.” He next spoke to Harry in a lower voice. “How do we do this, then?” he asked him. “I mean, do we do it chronologically, or in the order I found everything out?”

“I think it’s just best if we go chronological. You say the parts you’re more familiar with, I’ll say mine. ‘Cause like, otherwise it becomes harder if you consider that they didn’t live it and all.” That made sense.

Louis nodded, and spoke up. “I’m going to just summarise everything before we start going more into details.” He made sure Harry was onboard for this before continuing. “Basically, seven months ago, I started distancing myself from Harry, to the point where he actually thought we might be breaking up. He didn’t know what to do anymore, and he ended up cheating. Umm, three times. And now, we’re fixing this whole big mess.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think, Harry? Does that do it?”

Harry offered him a tight-lipped smile. “Rather simplistic in my opinion, but you covered the important points, I guess. The two important points.”

Louis wanted to laugh, but this really wasn’t the time for that. So instead, he started talking about the engagement with El, and the PR, and all of that. He went into detail, making sure that after today, he would have covered the biggest part of this story. “I didn’t want any of it to happen,” he at some point said. “I didn’t want to force the engagement and all that came with it upon Harry and I, or Eleanor. So I guess I thought that if H and I didn’t appear to be so close anymore, management might leave us be. I just forgot to talk it through with Harry. Or no, I didn’t forget; rather I thought that it would be easier for the both of us if he just stayed oblivious.”

Harry coughed to interrupt. “It got to the point where I felt like he was acting more like a friend than a boyfriend, and I thought he just didn’t know how to break up with me. I mean, I thought that he was going to break up with me.” Now, it was Louis’s turn to rest a calming hand on Harry’s arm as Harry filled in his part. He talked about most of the things he'd said to Louis, about how he'd been desperate for any kind of sign that Louis might still care, and how the only times he would get them would be when he cheated. "It was wrong, and I know that now, but back then, I didn't think Louis cared. I thought we were nothing more than friends to him, and, well, friends can fuck other people, I guess. It makes no sense, and I know that it was wrong, but _I_ made no sense, and _I_ was wrong." He went over his feelings, something Louis really admired him for, and he spilled everything that Louis could think of as pertinent.

It took well over an hour to completely cover everything, and at the end of that, Louis could truly say he was ready to take a nap. He leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, too tired to really consider whether it was appropriate or not, although if he were to be honest, it probably wasn’t.

Louis yawned, speaking up for what would hopefully be the last time today. “Basically, our real downfall was our communication, or, well, lack thereof. That’s really what we’re trying to work on right now.”

He could almost hear the other three thinking. “Have you forgiven Harry yet?” Zayn asked.

Louis shook his head as he answered. Apparently his wish to not have to participate to the world for the rest of the day would not work out. “No. I understand him now, which is something I’ve really been wanting since the beginning, but I don’t think this is something that I’ll forgive anytime soon.”

“To be quite honest, I’m not sure that I want him to forgive me,” Harry muttered silently, and Louis even doubted the other three would hear it. It probably wasn’t meant for them, anyways.

“Who did he cheat with, if you don’t mind my asking?” Niall ventured.

Louis nudged Harry, trying to make him understand that Harry would be the one answering this question. It seemingly worked. “Ah, well the first time it was with Nick, umm, Grimshaw. The other two times was with random people; I didn’t know them at all.”

This seemed to silence everyone, and all Louis could think was that that was good news; no more talking. It took another half hour before they were ready to hang up, promising they would answer the questions that they could when they got back.

When it was all over, Louis sighed, and he was fairly sure he had heard Harry do so too. They got up, briefly thanking Angela and Therese before leaving; they really were grateful for them. Their exhaustion was just bigger.

Walking home was another challenge, and one that they succeeded without the unnecessary attention of photographers. Louis let himself sink into the couch next to Harry, swearing they would talk this all through, later. At the moment, though, he wanted to take a nice, long nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just past midnight so this all worked out!
> 
> Hope you like this, I'll try to answer the comments I've gotten on the last few chapters tomorrow. 
> 
> Also, I aced my chemistry final, which made me pass my semester, so thank you so much for being patient! :) 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> Ju


	23. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically two stories enterlaced, and there is a reason for that, it becomes more obvious towards the end. Basically italics are used for flashbacks. I hope it's not too hard to understand!

Louis woke up on top of Harry, on the couch, his limbs mixing in with Harry’s. He shuffled around slightly, trying his best not to wake the boy under him up. Apparently, it was a very useless attempt, seeing as how Harry’s arms slowly made their way up to hold his hips, keeping Louis close.

“Hey, you’re up?” Harry whispered into Louis’s ear. Louis pulled back slightly, meeting Harry’s eyes. They hadn’t been this close in a long time, and that sort of frightened Louis. How easy and _right_ it felt to fall back into this little world where he and Harry were together. Or maybe not together, just close. That made sense, probably.

Louis curled up slightly into Harry, his head falling easily in the crook of Harry’s neck, his arms stretching out above his head before Louis finally got up. Harry’s arms feel from Louis’s hips slowly, almost floating in the air. “Yeah. What time’s it?” Louis asked. There was a slight sleep-induced slur to his words, one that he’d stopped trying to correct months ago.

Louis could see out the window how the sun was long gone, a gentle pale blue haze along the horizon line left in its wake, which meant that it was now nighttime. “I woke up a few minutes before you; I didn’t get to check. My guess would be sometime past nine o’clock though,” Harry answered.

Louis turned around from the window, looking down on Harry, who was still spread out on the couch. Louis had to take a moment when their eyes met; the haze that always covered Harry’s eyes when he’d just woken up had always been something that took Louis’s breath away. It probably always would make him breathless.

There had always been an equivocal level of dynamics in Louis and Harry’s relationship, especially before the breakup. Now, it was mainly un-interpreted actions and reactions happening between them. Like how Harry didn’t break his gaze away from Louis, but didn’t push it past a sleepily fond look.

Two months ago, Louis would’ve broken down at that look, possibly thrown a fit or become incredibly angry, but now, he understood it. Seven months ago, he would’ve welcome that look, and possibly thought of licking it off of Harry’s face. Eight months ago, Louis would have acted upon that thought. Eight and a half months ago, he and Harry had been at a good place.

_The door opened, letting Louis into the house. “Hey, I’m back!” he announced, placing his bag down by the door. Harry appeared from around the corner, a smile on his lips. He walked towards Louis, greeting him with a chaste kiss on the lips. “Did you miss me?” Louis asked, eyes still lingering on Harry’s lips._

_Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’s waist, pulling him against him. “Of course. You know I’m incapable of taking care of myself without you,” Harry joked. “Was about to burn the house down.” He tilted his head down again, silently asking for another kiss, and Louis obliged._

_“Good thing I’m back then, innit?” he asked into Harry’s lips._

_Harry hummed._

_The date was somewhere in the middle of September, two and a half months before the breakup. A month and a half before the first time Harry cheated. Two weeks before Louis would be told by management that he needed to fake an engagement with Eleanor. Everything seemed as perfect as it would ever get, and the two boys’ relationship was still a healthy one._

Louis shook his head, breaking his gaze away from Harry’s. “Well, looks like we’re not going to be tired enough to sleep through the night.” Harry laughed. “Well, I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty much as rested as I could be.”

Harry smirked. “Yeah, well, I could probably sleep for an entire day anytime, but I’m awake right now.” He sat up on the couch, gesturing for Louis to come sit down next to him. Harry reached for the tellie’s remote, almost dropping it in the process. He flicked the television on, flipping through the channels until something caught either his or Louis’s attention.

Louis leaned onto the armrest, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “I think I’ll go make us some popcorn.” Harry nodded, acknowledging Louis’s words. “Should I pop one or two bags?” he asked, already getting up from the couch.

Harry hummed, seemingly considering it. “I’m not all that hungry honestly, so I’d say maybe one would be plenty enough.” Louis turned around, making his way to the kitchen. “Oh, and I found some of that caramel popcorn that you’d been asking for before.” Before was a long time ago, Louis thought, but didn’t comment. “It’s in the cupboard with the crisps.”

Louis huffed. “Why didn’t you just put it with the popcorn?” he asked over his shoulder.

Harry just laughed, and Louis walked into the kitchen, immediately starting to look for the caramel popcorn. He found it where Harry had told him it was, caught between two bags of crisps. He put the popcorn in the microwave, starting it up.

Sometimes, Louis really wished that he could turn back time and return to when he and Harry understood each other without having to even think about it. He missed the warmth in Harry’s touches, the ease of just hanging off of one another, and most of all, he missed the simplicity of their relationship. It had been easy for them, everything used to just come naturally to them.

_Louis took Harry’s hand in his, pulling him towards the kitchen. He sat down on the counter, and Harry fell into place between his open legs, both hands resting next to his hips. “Are the boys coming over tonight?” Louis asked, trying to act oblivious to the way Harry was leaning into him._

_“I think so,” Harry answered. “Do you want me to check?” It was clear that there were other things he would rather do at the moment if his glazed over eyes were any hint at all, but Louis decided to simply ignore it._

_Louis smirked at him, resting a hand against Harry’s chest. “Yes, please.” He wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist._

Louis was about to return to the living room, where he’d left Harry, when he decided to go back and get a bag of barbecue crisps. With those and the popcorn in a bowl, he walked back towards Harry, falling down in the sofa next to him.

“So, what are we watching?” he asked between two mouthfuls of the popcorn, which, as it turned out, was fabulous. He stuffed his mouth with three other handfuls, looking over at Harry.

Harry picked one of the kernels that had fallen out of Louis’s mouth, looking it over. He popped it into his mouth. “There was nothing on. I decided to put in a movie.”

Louis shuffle around on the couch. “Okay, then, what movie are we watching?” he asked instead, rolling his eyes in the process.

Harry stole some more popcorn away. “We, my friend, are watching Grease.” He swallowed his food. “It’s the only movie we’ve got in L.A., and I’m pretty sure I stopped paying for my Netflix a while ago, so that was it.”

The starting credits rolled by. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter,” Louis said quietly, his eyes falling to his fingers.

Harry leaned towards Louis to nudge him in the ribs before taking his place by the left armrest again. “Hey, it is one of your favourite movies,” Harry said, and Louis could tell by his tone of voice that he was trying to gauge what was going through Louis’s mind.

Louis coughed. “It was. Um, we used to watch it a lot together when we were dating, and I mean. I actually haven’t watched it since we broke up.” He swallowed. The one time he had tried to, he had ended up crying about halfway through the film.

Harry tried not to look too surprised, and Louis gave him an A+ for trying, but he still ended up looking at Louis with big, round eyes. “Really? I mean, we don’t have to watch it if you’d rather not.” He sounded somewhere between confused and concerned, but Louis tried not to pay too much attention to that.

Louis dismissed Harry at the same time the actual movie started up. “It’s fine.”

There had not been too many moments like this when they’d been dating. They had always been on the same page - well, up until the final month - and they’d always adored the teasing. Now, it sort of made Louis feel like his heart was stuck in a cage that was too small for it, closing up on it and never giving him a chance to relax.

_Harry smiled, stretching out and reaching for their cord phone that was a few feet away. He pulled it up, dialing Zayn’s number first and waiting for it to ring. He twirled the cord around his fingers, not moving away from Louis._

_It rang once, twice, three times before Zayn picked up. “Yes?”_

_“Hey, Zayn,” Harry said, dragging the words out. Louis started sliding his fingers up and down Harry’s chest, over his shirt. “I was just wondering...”_

_Zayn sighed. “Yes, Harry?”_

_“Like, Louis and I both have a terrible memory, and we can’t figure out-” Louis started tweaking at one of Harry’s nipples with his fingers. “I was just wondering,” Harry tried to continue, “if you were still planning to-” Louis looked up at Harry briefly before leaning in, pressing his tongue firmly onto the cloth of Harry’s shirt, right against his right nipple, fingers still teasing the left one. “Oh fuck you, Lou,” Harry gasped. Louis only laughed._

_“Yes, Harry?” Zayn repeated, trying to regain his attention._

_Harry shook his head, trying as best he could to ignore Louis. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “We wanted to know if you were still planning on coming over tonight,” Harry got out in one breath. Louis sat back up, hands dropping by his side._

_“Well, I mean, yeah, if the offer’s still standing,” Zayn answered at the same time that Louis lifted Harry’s shirt off his body. He peeled it off, letting it fall to Harry’s feet unceremoniously._

_Harry eyed Louis warningly, but didn’t say anything. “Yes, of course. What time were you planning on dropping by?” Harry asked._

_Louis pinched Harry’s nipple hard, making Harry whimper quietly. “That depends,” Zayn said cautiously, “when are you and Louis going to be done doing whatever it is you’re doing at the moment?”_

_Louis twirled his tongue around Harry’s other nipple, slowly licking his way up to Harry’s throat. He started to bite at it, and Harry had to gently push him away a bit. “Hey, remember what Lou said last time you gave me a hickey.” He was trying to cover the mouthpiece as best he could, but he knew it wasn’t working. “If you have to, leave one where it’s easier to hide, which means_ not _on my throat.” Louis nodded, relocating his mouth to Harry’s open chest. Harry concentrated back on the conversation he was having with Zayn. “Well, we’re honestly not doing much right now,” he said._

Halfway through the movie, Louis stole the remote control out of Harry’s grasp and paused the movie. There was a mix of popcorn and crisps littering both the sofa and the floor, and Louis felt himself crushing a few while he shifted around on the couch, sitting up straighter.

“I need to talk something over with you,” he said, not able to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry nodded, urging Louis to go on. He also sat himself properly on the couch, leaving a good foot and a half between their two bodies. Louis coughed. “It’s just, well, ‘friends can fuck other people.’” He saw Harry close his eyes briefly. “I just, did I really make you feel like we were only friends?” This had been on Louis’s mind since the second the words had been out of Harry’s mouth, earlier today.

Harry moved himself slightly to be facing Louis more directly, crossing his legs underneath him. He flopped his hands down into his lap, his fingers going to play with his rings. “I, umm.” He furrowed his brows, his nose scrunching up slightly as he thought what he was going to say through. Louis could see the wrinkles in his forehead, and he wanted to smooth them out almost as badly as he wanted an answer. Harry coughed; maybe hoping the words would come out with his breath. They didn’t. “Before I say anything, I just want you to know that I was expressing how I felt back when everything happened, not how I feel in the present.” His words were coming out painfully slowly, but Louis went along with it. “I knew at the time that what I was doing was wrong, but like I told you, it also felt like the only way to reach out to you. I was terrified of upsetting you, but I was mostly terrified of losing you, Lou.”

Louis’s jaw tensed slightly at that nickname. “Let’s keep it at Louis for now, please, H.”

Harry nodded. “I know that cheating was definitely not going to help me keep you as a partner, but it seemed to make you care. And at that point, I was lucky if you even looked at me twice when saying hello.” He sighed out. “I know that I could and should have probably worded what I said to the boys better. But you’d told me that I should say things as I saw them at the time, and that was it.”

Louis’s face fell, and he knew he probably looked sad. “Was that really what you thought was going on, though? You really thought that I was going to break up with you, or that I only saw you as a friend?” His voice was quiet, almost a whispered choke.

Harry nodded slowly, looking at Louis curiously. “I’m really not trying to make you feel bad; I think I’ve done enough of that with these past few months. But think back, and _tell me_ that you treated me like someone you loved, like someone who meant more to you than ‘just a friend.’”

Louis thought back, going through the weeks between the news of a fake engagement with Eleanor and the first time Harry cheated. He then compared them to before any of that had happened, all under Harry’s scrutinising gaze.

_Zayn sighed. “If you say so.” He then added, “I’ll tell Niall and Liam that we can come over for like four. That okay?”_

_Harry looked at the clock. It was just past one in the afternoon. “That’s perfect, yeah.” Louis bit down on Harry’s nipple, making him arch up. “Okay, fuck, Lou, you’re done.” He tried to disentangle himself from Louis’s limbs, but Louis tightened his legs around his waist, tying his hands in Harry’s hair and trying to mold his mouth to Harry’s._

_He bit down lightly onto Harry’s bottom lip, trying to get him to part his lips. Harry tried to push Louis away slightly, catching his breath to speak to Zayn again._

_“Yeah, that’s perfect,” he panted, feeling Louis’s hands trailing down his body. Louis had a smirk etched onto his face as his fingers pulled at the zipper of Harry’s pants. It took him a few seconds, but Louis managed to get Harry’s jeans down past his knees. He wasted no time groping him through his boxers. “Oh, fuck, Lou,” Harry moaned, forgetting for a few seconds that he was still on the phone._

_“Okay, I’m gonna take that as my cue to hang up. Goodbye,” Zayn spoke quickly, and soon enough all there was coming through the phone was a dial tone. Harry put the phone back down, concentrating on Louis instead._

Louis blinked slowly, his mind reeling. “I’m, umm, I’m really sorry.” He nibbled on his bottom lip, wishing he had a smoke or a drink in his hand. “I know I can’t go back and change the past, and I know that neither one of us is really excused for what we did to each other. I mean, my neglecting you, and you’re, umm, cheating on me.” Louis could feel his throat closing up on him, his voice going hoarse with tears that he could seem to neither swallow down nor cry out. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t be sorry.” He swallowed. “Anyways, umm, keep going I guess.”

Harry nodded, licking his lips. “I don’t remember exactly when it was that I first thought of that ‘friends can fuck other people’ thing. It might have been curled up one night, trying to sleep in a bed that was too big for just me. It might have been to try and get through a night when I was being eaten up with guilt from what I’d done. I don’t know, really. What I do know, though, was that after the second time, when I would look at you, that’s what I would hear. Especially when you went back to being closed off. It was sort of just ringing through my ears at all times of the day, just this aching thought that I’d lost you. Anyways, not the point. It’s just that you asked me to say the most of what was going on, to have fewer questions to answer later on. Paint a better picture I guess. Whatever.”

Louis nodded. “I get it.” He folded his leg under him, sitting on his ankle. “That doesn’t mean that it didn’t feel any less sour to hear, but I get it. A step in the right direction I suppose.”

Harry dusted his fingers along the line of Louis’s arm, gently offering him a comforting presence. “Like you said, I can’t undo the past, and I obviously can’t take back what I thought in the past, but I’m sorry if it hurt you in any way.” He pulled his hand away from Louis, allowing his palm to fall back into his lap. “I just want to get back to the point in the past where we could really be honest with each other. And my being honest with you will most likely help with that.”

Louis laughed lowly, patting Harry’s leg softly. “That might happen eventually, but it’s going to take a whole lot of work and effort.”

Harry nodded seriously. “And I’m willing to put in that effort.”

Louis smiled shyly, eyes sparkling as he looked at Harry. “Well I’d like for us to get there, some time in our future.”

_“He hung up?” Louis asked breathlessly._

_Harry nodded._

_Louis smiled, and slowly unwrapped his legs from around Harry’s waist. “How long do we have?” He started pulling Harry’s briefs down, letting them join Harry’s jeans at his ankle._

_Harry watched Louis carefully. “A bit under three hours. They’re coming for four.”_

_Louis gently put the pad of his thumb against Harry’s nipple, applying slight pressure and watching as Harry’s body reacted. “Good then,” he said. “We’ve got time.”_

_Harry’s fingers gently tugged at Louis’s clothes, slowly removing each and every article of clothing he had on until they were both stark naked in their kitchen. He fit his body up against Louis’s, molding into one person with two beating hearts._

_As Harry snuggled up into Louis, his breath fanning hotly against his skin, the last thing he would ever think of would be that this would all be over soon. It was really hard to believe, though, that even the best things came to an end, as it would start to be apparent in but a few weeks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated, so thank you for that!
> 
> On another note I'm leaving tomorrow for three weeks where I most likely will not have access to a computer. I'm going to try to write on my phone, and I do hope to update this while I'm gone. 
> 
> I also changed my tumblr to possiblywitty, so there's that. 
> 
> Love and kisses, 
> 
> Julianne


	24. XXIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the very long wait, I'm terrible, I know. I would've liked to be able to update as soon as I got back from vacation, but the Wi-Fi was so terrible while I was there, I couldn't fetch what I'd written before leaving, so I couldn't continue it. I wrote as soon as I got back, and was supposed to have this up the 16th, but I've been having trouble getting a hold of my family computer, and this is the first time I've had it since I think Thursday. (I'm getting a laptop sometime this week, so that'll be the end of that problem).
> 
> Basically, a whole lot of excuses, I know, I'm sorry, but here's an extra long chapter to make up for it (the longest yet, if I'm not mistaken).

It had been decided that Harry and Louis would be returning to London in about a week, making their stay in LA almost a month long.

Harry had already made an appearance at a tattoo parlour recently, figuring that, as Niall had put it, "nobody would think you'd be bloody thick enough to be seen in the city you're staying in." So it had been decided that the easiest way to stay under Modest!'s radar would be to make sure he was on it.

Obviously, management would need to believe that Harry had left America pretty straight afterwards, so the boys thought that they should leave a trail for them to follow. At first, Liam had suggested that they buy an aeroplane ticket using one of Harry's credit cards. It would be pretty easy for Modest! to track that kind of purchase, and then the people working behind the desks would be off on a wild goose chase.

"Yes, that would be pretty perfect," a voice from behind Harry and Louis had said, and when they turned around, they were met with the lovely sight of both Angela and Therese Wright, their neighbours. Obviously it hadn’t been too much of a challenge for the two women to eavesdrop on a phone conversation being carried in their own house, on speakerphone. In the goddamn middle of the bloody kitchen. Angela, who was now mockingly rubbing at her chin with her index finger and thumb, continued. "Except that from what I've gathered, you two have been laying incredibly low for the past three weeks or so." She took a few steps towards them, her wife in tow with an amused smile gracing her features. "If I were trying to pick up on your trace, I would find it highly suspicious of you to suddenly drop your guard enough to use your own credit card. Especially if it's to buy yourself something that acts as a giant neon arrow pointing in your direction."

Louis sighed, turning to face Harry fully. "She's got a point. You can't just suddenly appear out of nowhere after we both dropped off the face of the Earth almost a month ago, in their books."

"Well then what do we do? We can't just let them think that I've stayed here!" Harry answered, trying very hard to keep the annoyance out of his tone, but by the looks of it, he had only failed miserably.

He and Louis were trying _really_ hard at rebuilding some kind of friendship (keyword: friendship,) and although Louis wasn't entirely sure how well it was working, he knew they were getting somewhere. It was nowhere nearly as difficult to spend large amounts of time with Harry anymore, and although he wouldn't qualify it as being easy, he couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in his company.

"What about," Niall started, "if I were to buy the ticket for you, with my card."

Harry shook his head, cutting him off. "I don't really know where you're getting at, but I don't understand how they would link that back to me."

"Well then let me finish, would ya? I mean, think about it. Our team's not stupid, so they've gotta know I'm still in England, right? I mean, I'm pretty sure I've been papped enough times to dispel any doubts surrounding my location." He paused, and knowing Niall, it had probably been for dramatic effect. "So don't you think they would find it particularly strange if I were to suddenly buy a ticket for an aeroplane leaving LAX in direction of, let's say, Germany?"

And Louis would be damned if he didn't admit that that was a pretty brilliant plan. Still, he spared a glance in his neighbour's direction, making sure she didn't have any objections, before voicing his agreement.

And if there was one thing Louis loved, it was messing with his management team, because they truly could be a bunch of stuck up people when they wanted to be. Also, they'd made it fairly clear a while back that they valued their money more than they did their clients, so, there was that, too.

_Louis walked into the tall building, his head tilted towards the floor in the blind hope that he wouldn’t attract any attention that way. He was already late for the meeting with management, which had been scheduled hastily in late September, giving him a few days to prepare for it actually happening. It was now early November, as he was so beautifully reminded every time he looked outside to see the colourful leaves falling from the trees and to the ground._

_He waved to a secretary that he’d never seen before, making his way up the stairs quickly. The place had an elevator, and he knew it, but after a recent incident had left him trapped in one for longer than he found necessary, he was fine with working up a slight sweat._

_He spotted the large number four which had been painted onto the door for that floor and pulled it open, walking through it and towards the large room he knew for a fact was at the end of the long corridor to his right. His shoes clicked against the floor, a few people shuffling in and out of rooms around him. A limited number acknowledged his presence, but most allowed him to keep on walking without interruption._

_He walked into the conference room, noticing that one of the people he was supposed to be meeting with was missing, the other three already very much so present._

_A short man in a suit stood up, presenting his hand to Louis, who shook it with a nod before sitting down in the chair he figured would be his. He introduced himself and his colleagues in an accent that was much too polished and posh for Louis to believe that it was actually real. He explained that one of his colleagues was on her way, having had to pick up a file of papers regarding this precise meeting on her way up. “Why don’t we start off now?” he asked, his smile empty and his eyes determined._

_Louis nodded curtly, knowing fully well that it was only a rhetorical question. He scooted back in his chair, looking across the table at the three people sitting there. One was a lady wearing a decent navy blue dress, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and the other two were men in suits. All three seemed to be somewhere along their mid-forties to fifties._

Now, with a week remaining, they were trying to figure out how to spend it. There were only so many times they could watch the same movie again and again without another one as a dimer in between, before getting bored of it; the same went with the about five good shows that could be found on basic cable, which was what you got when you didn’t pay for proper TV.

(Harry had admitted that he had not only stopped paying for Netflix, a few months back, but also for anything that wasn’t absolutely bloody necessary.

“Apparently, it isn’t a good idea to stop paying for water and electricity. Nick- _ita_ -”

“You can say his name.”

Harry had bowed his head slightly, his voice having gone soft. “Nick,” and nope, Louis had definitely not gritted his teeth and bitten his tongue, that would have been ridiculous, “had to give me a proper talking to in order to keep me from doing that. Something about rusting pipelines and... you know what? I think he lied, but let’s stop talking about him.”

“I’m not a baby, I can talk about him without feeling like shit,” and anyone would have been a fool not to see through that lie, but Harry didn’t call on it, instead he had let the conversation dwindle down to silence.)

Basically, Louis was now climbing the walls with how bored he was. He wanted so badly to leave the house, even just go for a walk - he was really, _really_ quite bored - but he was well too aware that if he were to do that, he’d get his arse deported back to the motherland, and possibly Harry’s too, and if there was one thing that Louis loved, it was fucking around with management, as he had proved in quite a few instances. It was such a rare occasion when they managed to do it, and in the past few weeks, they’d had so many opportunities!

Harry walked into the room, a home-made pizza on the platter he carried. He set it down in front of Louis, taking a seat at a reasonable distance besides Louis. He picked out a slice of the pizza for himself, offering one up to Louis. Louis shook his head, declining.

Harry cocked his head at him, an eyebrow rising up in questioning. “You okay?” he asked before taking a bite.

Louis nodded, his hands folding into his lap. His fingers itched for his phone, wanting desperately to call someone to relieve him of this boredom, and now of a thought that he had managed to push away earlier had made its way back to the forefront of his mind. His hands clenched slightly in his lap, nails lightly digging into the fabric of his worn jeans.

Harry put his food down on the coffee table, gently reaching for Louis’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his own lap. “What’s wrong? I thought you were going great?” There was nothing reproachful in his tone of voice, more of a kind of curiosity that Louis couldn’t quite understand.

Louis nodded, eyes drifting above Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”

Harry looked at him, and Louis could feel his eyes on him. Louis tried looking around, but he realised he mainly must look suspicious. He shifted around, folding his leg underneath him to sit on his foot.

Harry turned around, eyeing the kitchen from where he’d come in. He sighed, shaking his head like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he looked back towards Louis, his eyes burning into Louis’s as Louis decidedly kept his gaze focused on a patch of dirt on the sofa, besides him. “Please, let’s talk about whatever it is. We both agreed we should communicate better, why not start now?” Louis knew that he could easily decline, that Harry was offering because he thought it was what would be best for them, but that he would still respect Louis’s decision if he said that he’d rather not.

However, Louis did want to try, at least with Harry. Maybe he wouldn’t start opening up more to the boys, or to his mum, but a part of him knew that he could with Harry. A part of him knew that this would make things better. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that all of a sudden, he and Harry would return to the point where they had spent countless nights gossiping and sharing secrets in the dark. Harry was right though; might as well start now.

He mumbled out a vague agreement. Harry waited, his grasp around Louis’s wrists loosening up slightly but not letting go completely. “I don’t really know how to start” was what came out of Louis’s lips, the words floating around in the air between them before dissipating altogether.

Harry looked around. “Maybe if I - I mean, I know I’m not supposed to, but maybe.” He paused, seeming slightly frustrated at himself. “Would it be okay if I got us each a glass of wine, or maybe a bottle of beer each?” he asked cautiously.

Louis was well aware that Liam, Niall and Zayn were wary of him having alcohol, or even of him being near it. He completely understood their reasons and he himself wasn’t too keen on drinking again; after the too many weeks he’d spent somewhere between drunk and unconscious, the boys weren’t all too ready to hand him some drinks again. He was aware that those weeks had been very hard on the boys, and he loved them very much for caring for him through those times. But right now, he might need some liquid courage, so he shyly nodded, eyes dancing around Harry’s face but never meeting his eyes. Louis could detect a sort of resistance in Harry’s stance, but he figured that Harry wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t mean it.

_The man who hadn’t yet spoken up started talking, his lips moving oddly around his words. It was almost as though the words left his mouth quicker than his lips could comprehend. “As you know, this meeting is mainly to monitor both your private relationship with Harry and your public one with Eleanor.”_

_Louis furrowed his brows. “That’s what I’d been told, but I still don’t understand why Harry couldn’t be here. Like, especially if this concerns the both of us.”_

_The lady in front of him flipped through a small but substantial stack of papers that had been set out in front of her, managing to look incredibly annoyed by doing it. Why had they needed someone to go fetch more information? It seemed like there could be quite enough in the pile she held. Her eyes didn’t lift up from her papers as she spoke to Louis. “It’s not that he couldn’t come, we just thought it would be a waste of his time to come. We trust that you will be able to give him an accurate recounting of what happened.”_

_Louis wanted to roll his eyes, he really did, but he dug his nails into his thighs instead, biting down on his lip. “You explicitly told me on the phone, after I’d asked, that Harry could not come,” he pointed out. “Your exact works were ‘No, I’m sorry, but his presence will not be needed. Only yours is required.”_

_The lady stopped shuffling through her papers. “Look, Louis-”_

_“It’s Mr. Tomlinson. I don’t believe we’re on a first name basis, here, Ma’am.”_

_She averted her eyes from the stack of papers underneath her fingers, but still wouldn’t look at Louis. She looked even more annoyed than she had before. “Anyways, Mr. Tomlinson, we did what we believed to be best. If that meant that Harry-”_

_“Mr. Styles,” Louis corrected, finding an odd kind of pleasure out of purposefully annoying this person. It definitely had something to do with how she didn’t find this meeting - or him - important enough to address him properly and look at him while talking to him. He really felt like she thought he didn’t deserve her respect, and that just rubbed him the wrong way. He picked at the skin around his nails, hoping that his stance gave out an impression of boredom._

_She sighed, finally looking up, letting her eyes skim over his figure briefly before falling back down to the papers in her hands. “If that meant that your little boyfriend shouldn’t be here then so be it. We just did what we knew would be in your best interest. I hope you’ll understand that.” She sounded like a teacher reprimanding a student._

_Louis was fairly sure that he had a sour expression on his face at this point. He looked over at the man who had greeted him when he’d walked in. “Sir, I’d like to request that your colleague here leave the room.” He had not been paying enough attention during introductions. He flashed the man in front of him a smile he knew would never pass as genuine. “At least until she learns to respect the people who indirectly provide a large part of her salary, all the while still probably earning more money than her.”_

_The man in question seemed rather conflicted as to how he should answer. “I’m sorry Mr. Tomlinson, but she is rather crucial to this meeting.”_

_Louis shrugged. “Not to sound too immodest, but I believe I’m rather crucial to this meeting too.”_

_Mr. Carpenter seemed confused. “I’m sorry; I don’t believe I’m following you.”_

_Louis smirked. “That’s fine, I’ll explain. It’s either she goes, or I go. So, I’m fairly sure that she could pass on her job to someone else, so perhaps we could have someone with the same qualifications as her come in and replace her.” He looked over the other two people present before returning his gaze to Mr. Carpenter. “Obviously, this is just a suggestion. It’s entirely your call who you choose should leave the room.”_

_The door opened, a woman most likely in her late thirties walking in. She smiled at Louis, nodding at the other people before taking a seat across from Louis. She had a pair of glasses low on her nose, the frames a bright purple that made her red hair stand out._

_The man standing in front of Louis turned to look at the person sitting at his side. He exchanged a few quiet words with the man, before speaking up loud enough for Louis to catch what he was saying. “Could you please escort Miss Jones out, and possibly go find someone to replace her?” So that was the name of the woman in the blue dress._

_The man in question stood up and made his way outside, Miss Jones hot on his heels. Louis wondered why it wasn’t his usual team here with him, but he seemed to remember that Liam also had a meeting today. Perhaps the team was with him._

Harry got up and came back shortly after with two beer bottles in his left hand, two wine glasses in his right and a bottle of red tucked under his arm. Louis looked down at his own hands, turning them around in front of his eyes - _goddamn_ it, Harry had large hands.

Harry set everything down next to his food, risking a bite of his pizza, before sitting down next to Louis. “I, umm,” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know if you would prefer wine or beer, so I brought both.” He seemed slightly scared, so Louis tried to seem calm enough for the both of them.

“That’s fine,” Louis said. “I think I’ll start with a glass of wine, though.”

Harry nodded, picking up the bottle - which he had probably uncorked while he’d been in the kitchen - and a glass. He poured a reasonable amount and handed it to Louis, that worried look still in his eyes. He looked down, pouring himself another glass. “This is okay, right?” When Louis didn’t answer, he elaborated. “I’m so sorry Lou, but I really do have to ask. You fell so low, back then, and you were always drunk, and I don’t want to be the cause for a repetition of that.” He kept on talking, but his words became unintelligible to Louis.

Louis nodded, swirling his wine around in his glass. “It’s fine, Harry, I promise.” He paused. “I think, if I remember correctly, I was drinking to forget. I mean, it’s all hazy, you know. It feels sort of like I wasn’t completely there, some of the memories are missing, but I think that’s it. And right now? I don’t have anything new that I want to forget. So it’s fine.” His words had come out guarded, but he had meant them. He was better now, and he didn’t want to fall back where he’d been either.

“Louis,” Harry pleaded. “That’s not how alcoholism works.”

Louis met his gaze, his eyes hard. “I wasn’t an alcoholic. I was sad, and fucking lonely. But I’m better now. I came out of it on my own, mostly, so I should be able to stay out on my own too.”

Harry nodded, but he still seemed somewhat frightened when Louis took his first sip. The last time he had given Louis wine, it was over a meal; it wasn’t serving as comfort. Harry let a few seconds pass before risking a sip of his own drink.

“We’re going back in a week,” Louis murmured. He sounded frightened by the idea.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Another moment passed, Louis taking another sip from his glass, eyes cast downwards. “So what happens then?” he asked, and Harry wasn’t sure what he meant. He didn’t answer, but he kept his eyes trailed on Louis. “What happens when we go back to London? Do I go back to living in my shit flat, and you go back to the house that used to be ours? Are we going to stop seeing each other? As friends, I mean, of course.”

Harry made sure to choose his words carefully, weighing each one before letting it out into the open. “You could come back and live in our house.” He knew the odds of Louis accepting were close to none, but he had to offer. “It’s too big for just me. And it’s still half yours.”

That’s what they used to say of their houses. Half Harry’s, half Louis’s. Actually, that’s what they had said of everything that they had owned.

“No.” Louis said, already halfway through his wine. “I can’t.” Harry was about to ask further details, but there was no need to push. “I couldn’t go back there, Harry. There are too many memories there, I just couldn’t bear it. Not with everything that’s happened between us there. That was our house back when we were together,” he stated.

A pregnant pause settled between them, both of them working on their drinks in the meantime. Louis couldn’t say for sure, but if he had to guess, he’d say it took at least half a dozen minutes for Harry to break the silence.

“This was our house too,” was what he settled on, voice somehow far away.

Louis shook his head, reaching over the coffee table and topping his and Harry’s glasses off. He somehow figured that Harry hadn’t even noticed, Harry’s eyes glazed over in that way they’d get when he was really concentrated on something. “It’s different, I think. It probably has to do with the fact that I think of this place as more of a new start. I can count on my fingers the number of times I’d been here when we were dating, and that number gets even smaller if I’m counting the times we were both here together. There are so few memories in this foundation; it’s almost like a clean slate to me. But our house in London?” He took a long gulp of his wine, a sad type of smile gracing his features. “Harry, that was our house, our _home_. Our families came over there; we celebrated anniversaries and birthdays together there, when we wanted it to be a quiet ordeal. I envisioned a future with you there, a whole family with babies that were ours, and now that that’s a different future, I can’t go back. Clean slate, Harry.” He took another sip of his wine, and somehow, Harry seemed oblivious to the fact that Louis was drinking much faster than he was. “For God’s sake, that’s where you told me that you’d cheated. I don’t think I would ever be able to go back there and not have that day thrust upon me every time I have my back turned away. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” He tipped his glass back against his lips, savouring the rich taste of the wine on his tongue.

Harry nodded. “I get it, I think. I’ve not been able to sleep in our bed since you left, and it’s pretty hard to do anything there, really. I don’t know why I thought you’d want to come back to the house. I hate it too,” he admitted. Louis almost wanted to ask why Harry hadn’t done like him and found himself some other small flat, but he didn’t. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer; it was Harry’s thing to torment himself with something like what he’d done by staying in that house. Louis let himself breathe out slowly, trying to cleanse himself of his thoughts. It didn’t work. “I often wish I could just sell the damn place and buy a new one.”

Louis filled his glass up again, and somewhere along the line, they’d almost finished up the entire bottle. Louis knew that Harry was still only on his second glass. “Then why don’t you?” he asked, and it wasn’t exactly what he’d just been wondering.

Harry offered up a small smile. “It’s still your house too; I’d never sell it without your approval.” And although that didn’t explain why Harry still chose to live in it, that was okay.

Louis scoffed. “Harry?”

Harry hummed.

“You’ve got my approval. I’ve not lived there in what, seven months? More? Less?” He was starting to feel warm all over from the wine. He missed this feeling. “I say sell it. Buy yourself another house.”

Harry considered it. “Would you maybe then be able to come live in it?” Louis took a long sip of his wine. “In the same way that we’re living in this house here, you know?”

“Sorry Harry, but I really don’t think I’d be able to spend all of my time in the same house as you. I mean, even here, there are days when I don’t think I can look at you straight on.”

“Which is why you’d keep your current flat. You could go back there whenever you want, and whenever you need.” Harry elaborated, but he didn’t push. He never pushed.

Louis emptied the remnants of the bottle of wine into his glass, shrugging. “I guess I’ll think about it.” He looked at Harry’s glass, then longingly towards the beers. He’d have one of those as soon as his own wine glass was once again finished. “But, like, when we go back to London, how are things gonna be? Between us I mean.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think either of us can go back to how it was before we came here. I can’t go back to not talking to you.”

“I agree. I mean, I can’t go back to not knowing so many things about the breakup. We both figured some things out, and I don’t want to pretend none of that happened. I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to, Harry.”

Harry finished up his slice of pizza, which mustn't have been all too warm at this point. Louis opened a bottle of beer, tipping it back and letting the liquid fall down his throat. He could definitely feel the alcohol pulsing through his veins, making him feel light. He liked it. He had missed this.

“Okay, so this is good,” Harry spoke. “We’re on the same page. So how about we just keep on this thing we’ve had going. This friendship. I could work with that, and I’m sure you could too.”

“Friendship,” Louis muttered, and it sounded sort of longing, in an odd way, almost like the word was partially foreign to Louis. “We’re friends, Harry.”

Harry eyed his bottle of beer, seemingly noticing that it had made its way into Louis’s hand for the first time. His gaze dropped to the empty bottle of wine on the floor, and then up to the small smile that Louis had on his face. “Louis?” he started out very slowly, his tone incredibly worried. “I’m not sure you should be drinking this much.” He tried to reach for the bottle of beer in Louis’s hands, but Louis scurried away on the sofa, the drink clutched against his chest, a pout now replacing his previous smile. He was definitely starting to be tipsy. After having spent all his time drunk and suddenly quitting drinking altogether, remaining completely sober for the past few months, his tolerance to alcohol seemed to be relatively low. He checked his watch, noticing that nearly two hours had fallen through since he’d first sat down. He would have never guessed. “Please, Louis, give me the alcohol.”

Louis shook his head. “Just let me finish this one, Harry. I feel so good. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve last had a proper drink?” The silence dragged long enough that Harry thought Louis had forgotten he’d been talking, but clearly he couldn’t be that tipsy. “Too long, I’ll tell you.”

Harry felt terrible, because he knew that he should be taking the drink away from Louis and sending him off to bed as an exchange. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he nodded, allowing Louis to finish off his beer. Except that it wasn’t only one beer; he drank the other one, too, and went back to the fridge to find a couple more, and Harry had probably drunk more than he’d initially thought, because he was having trouble noticing when Louis was starting off another drink.

_When the door slammed shut after them, Mrs. Clark smiled at him. "Rough start to your day?"_

_Louis smirked back. He knew Mrs. Clark from a few years back, when she was just starting as an intern at Modest! Management. "More or less." If he had to choose, Louis would probably say that she was his favourite person in this whole management team; he even preferred her to his usual team. "I mean, Harry and I got in a bit of a stupid fight, but nothing that won't be fixed when I come back." When he saw that she looked slightly concerned, probably over how this would affect the band's image, Louis quickly added on, "It was just about whether we should go to his mum's this weekend or the next." Three years dealing with these people and Louis still didn't get why this information was relevant to them. Mrs. Clark was most likely the person who tended to pry the least into his and Harry's life. Louis liked her for that._

_The man who had previously left, Louis thought that his name might be Mr. James, came back, a tall woman by his side. She greeted Louis before taking a seat across from him. It seemed to please everyone that everyone was finally there. “Now, I believe we can start,” the man who’d taken the lead before spoke up. He signed to Mr. James, nodding at him to begin._

_Louis usually took that as his cue to zone out. He had become exceptionally good over the years at humming and agreeing at all the right moments, and although some might argue that this wasn’t responsible, seeing as how he wasn’t really acting like he was involved in his own career, he knew that it wasn’t like he had a choice in anything that the people from Modest! said. They voiced everything in a way that could fool some into thinking that their opinion mattered, but Louis had smarted up a long time ago._

_He looked out the window, making sure to look back at the people in front of him every so often. Time seemed to pass faster when he was staring at nature._

_“- which means that next time you’re seen out with Eleanor - Judith, please check the calendar, but I think that’s supposed to be Friday of next week - she has to be wearing a diamond ring on her finger. There will be paparazzi around you, they should show up about five minutes after you, but you don’t pay any attention to them,” the man was saying when Louis tuned back in. Louis tried to stifle a yawn, and he mostly managed. “You won’t be asked about it for a while afterwards, but when you are eventually asked about it - which should be, if all goes according to plan, only a few weeks from now, no more than a month - you’re going to confirm an engagement. Now when it comes to -”_

_And that’s when it sank in. “Wait, what?” Louis asked sharply, his eyes darting between the people in front of him. “You can’t be serious.” The looks he received all seemed to indicate that the people were, in fact, quite serious._

_“When it comes to Harry, we do understand why he should know, but you have to try to explain to him that he has to make it seem natural and that he has to look happy for you,” Mr. James continued._

_Louis wanted to throw up. “I’m sorry; I think I missed the part where you explained to me why all of this would be necessary. Could you please just remind me again?”_

_The first man, the one who seemed in charge of everything - and at this point, Louis really couldn’t be bothered with remembering his name, so he decided to call him Sir #1 - seemed exasperated. “The media have been showing more interest in your relationship with Harry, and less interest in your relationship with Eleanor, in these past few months. We wish to turn this around, put a kind of spotlight on you and Eleanor, together.”_

_Louis was really going to be sick. He looked around him, searching for a garbage bin and finding none. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “There have to be other options. We’ve not even been seen together lately, we’ve been spending all our time together hidden away in our house. How can this possibly be happening?” Louis felt like his heart was breaking apart, because he had finally thought that they had something stable, that they could concentrate on their own relationship, that he and Harry didn’t need to worry about something else coming between them. He couldn’t let this whole thing create a wedge between them. How would he break the news to Harry? How could he ever face Harry to tell him that everything was going to be turned upside down in these next few months?_

_“To be quite fair, Mr. Tomlinson, you’ve not been spending much time with Eleanor either as of late.”_

_Louis felt like falling to his knees and begging at this point. “Then how about I do just that? How about I spend every free day I have with her. I’ll go to her parents’ house, I’ll go see her friends with her, I’ll go shopping with her. I’ll do anything, but please, not this, I can’t do this to Harry. You’ve got to understand.”_

_It was the lady’s turn to speak up, her name was Judith if Louis remembered correctly, she’d been the one who had come back with Mr. James, and at least she tried to put up a sympathetic front. “We’re truly sorry, but that’s no longer an option.” She looked down to the papers in her hands, and really, at this point Louis couldn’t remember any of these people’s names for the love of him. “The only thing that might work in salvaging this arrangement is a bold move, and that’s what we intend to happen.”_

_He kept on arguing and pleading and begging and doing anything that might work, but he had known since the beginning of this entire meeting that nothing he could say would affect anything that he would be told. And that’s exactly what happened._

_At the end of the meeting, he’d been asked what he thought about the plan, and he tried a last attempt at expressing his disgust towards it. "I think that I'd rather cut off my own balls with a butter knife. And perhaps eat them afterwards." He eyed everyone in the room slowly, looking them all up and down before continuing. “But this whole plan had clearly been settled before I’d even set foot in the room, so I’ve obviously got nothing to say that could change your mind.”_

_The meeting had ended two minutes after that, and when he found himself outside the building, making his way back towards his house with the promise of an email explaining everything they’d covered today, he realised that he couldn’t go through with the plan. He’d get shit for it, and he’d probably have to pay a pretty hefty sum of money, but he’d work his way around it. He would not do this to Harry._

_He felt himself open his car door and somehow put his car into drive. He pulled out of the parking lot, his body working on autopilot to figure out the route back home. They said something about his and Harry’s body language being a dead giveaway about their actual relationship. Louis knew that there wasn’t anything he could do per say to remedy that, but perhaps he could find a way to tune it down._

_Louis realised that he was turning into his driveway, so he parked the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition, walking up to his house. He heard Harry greet him, and he vaguely gave out an answer._

_He knew that when he and Harry were in a fight, their body language was less aimed at one another, more turned away from each other. Louis didn’t want to get into a fight with Harry though, it was definitely too hard to keep up, even when they had a reason for it. Maybe he could however pull away from Harry a bit. He wasn’t too sure how Harry would react to that, but he was certain that their body language, whatever that might be, would be a bit less close, and he’d only have to trust that that would be enough for the fans to pick up on._

The beers eventually turned back into wine, and soon enough Louis deemed that he’d had enough, mainly because he didn’t want to get back up to fetch himself another drink. Maybe Harry would do it for him. He’d ended up with his head in Harry’s lap, and he was somehow telling the story of the meeting with management when they’d told him he would be engaged to Eleanor, and he himself wanted to gag right now.

He could feel Harry’s hands running through his hair, and it felt really good. It felt really nice. Harry’s hands should always be in his hair, it felt so good. Maybe he should make that into a law. Could he make laws? He shook his head slightly. This was sort of his house, so he could definitely make his own laws here.

“Harry?” he spoke out, probably cutting off his own story, but that didn’t matter enough to him at the moment. “Harry?” he called out again, letting the syllables drag out in his mouth. He loved Harry’s name. It felt so lovely on his tongue. He sat up, scooting over until he was almost sitting in Harry’s lap. When had that happened? Wasn’t he sitting far away from Harry earlier on? He shook his head again, and Harry had to grab him by the waist when he started swaying slightly. “This is fun,” Louis commented. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster.” He let himself sway again, relishing the way it made his head feel light. He giggled, and he felt Harry’s hold on him get tighter.

“Louis, darling, you’re drunk.” Darling. Louis loved that word. He wanted Harry to say it again. Darling. “How about we get you in bed, and I’ll get you a cup of warm water. How’s that sound?” Harry asked.

Harry tried to coax Louis into getting up on his own, but Louis didn’t want to. When he felt like Harry might try to get up himself, he shuffled around until he was actually sitting in Harry’s lap. He felt warm there.

“No, Louis, love, you really should get to bed. You’re drunk, and you’re not acting like yourself, and you’re probably very tired. Now come on, up you go.” He patted Louis’s side, but groaned when all that seemed to achieve was to make Louis turn in his lap to face Harry.

Louis nuzzled into Harry’s neck. Harry was warm there, it felt nice. Harry was speaking nonsense. Louis wasn’t drunk. He was warm, and happy, and he felt good. He wrapped his arms around Harry, his fingers lacing together behind Harry’s neck. He felt really nice being in Harry’s lap.

“Louis? Please get off of me. You’re not acting like yourself,” Harry’s soft voice spoke out. Louis pulled away ever so slightly to look at Harry, his nose bumping against Harry’s own. He looked into Harry’s eyes. Surely Harry must be kidding. Louis knew for a fact that Harry loved when Louis curled up in his lap. Maybe he wasn’t close enough. He shifted his legs around until his knees were snug against the back of the couch, efficiently straddling Harry underneath him. “Please, Louis,” Harry tried to reason. Louis brushed away a curl that had fallen in front of Harry’s eyes. Silly hair. “Listen to me,” Harry demanded, and Louis’s eyes fell to Harry’s lips. Such nice lips, so pink and beautiful. “You’re drunk, and you would never do this if you were sober. I need you to get off of me and then we can talk about this in the-”

“I want to kiss you,” Louis interrupted. The thought had just popped up in his mind, but it was quite true. He wanted to kiss Harry. The sky is blue. He wanted to kiss Harry. His mum’s name is Johannah. He wanted to kiss Harry. Fish swim in water.

Harry shook his head, trying to push Louis away. Why was he pushing Louis away? Didn’t he want to kiss him too? Harry’s arms steadied him by his biceps, trying to preserve the distance between them, but if Louis was one thing, it was stubborn, so he pushed through anyway and managed to press his lips against Harry’s.

It wasn’t sweet or soft, and Louis’s lips soon made work of opening Harry’s lips, pushing his tongue through to reach Harry’s tongue. He moved his lips against Harry’s, starting to move his hips against Harry’s, somehow making up a rhythm between them. He finally felt Harry’s lips pressing back against his, moving along with his, and Louis smiled against him. Harry was kissing him back! This felt good. This was nice. Harry tasted nice. His lips were so soft, so beautiful, so warm. They made Louis’s lips feel warm too.

Except that all of a sudden, his lips no longer felt warm, because Harry’s lips weren’t against his anymore. Louis whined, opening his eyes - when had his eyes fallen shut? - and he saw that Harry had his hands on Louis’s shoulders, keeping the two of them apart. Louis whined even louder at that. “But Harry!”

Harry shook his head. “We can’t, Louis.”

“Why?” Louis demanded.

“I already told you. You’re drunk, and this is a bad idea. A terrible idea, even.”

“Why?” Louis repeated, and he did not sound like a child being told that he couldn’t have candy, not at all.

“Because you wouldn’t want this to happen if you were sober. We’re friends, we agreed to that. You’re not ready to kiss me, and I know that for a fact. _We’re_ not ready to kiss.”

Louis’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lips fell into a pout. “I want to kiss you. I’m ready to kiss you. Why don’t you want to kiss me?” he asked, and if he didn’t sound almost comical, it would sound accusing. Then Louis’s features melted away, leaving way to joy. “Wait. You kissed me back. You want to kiss me,” and this time, it sounded like an accusation.

Harry sighed. “Yes, I did kiss you back, because I love you very much, Louis. Which is why I know that we shouldn’t kiss. Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should.”

Louis went back to pouting. “Well it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t.”

“Louis,” Harry warned. “I said no.”

Louis still pouted, but he couldn’t do much when Harry’s arms dipped under him to pick him up. Louis yelped a little. Everything was moving. When had everything turned upside down? Louis was so dizzy. “Harry,” he dragged out. “I’m so dizzy.” He could feel Harry moving around, but everything around Louis was going too fast for him to take in. Were they going up stairs now? “Don’t drop me, Harry,” he said, his accent heavy and his words long.

Louis felt Harry shake his head. “I’m not gonna drop you. I swear, Louis, when have I ever dropped you before?”

Louis’s expression grew serious, like he was considering it. “I can’t remember.” He tucked his face into Harry’s shirt. “Where are we going?” he asked, words half muffled by Harry’s shirt.

Louis thought that it might have taken an eternity for Harry to answer, but he eventually did. “You, mister, are going to bed.”

Louis suddenly pulled away, shaking his head. That wouldn’t do. He wasn’t tired. He didn’t want to go to bed. He didn’t need to go to bed. “No. I’m not going.” Why should Harry get to decide for him? Louis was a fully grown man. He got to make his own terrible decisions.

Harry didn’t seem to acknowledge Louis as he made his way into a space Louis identified as his room.

Nononononono. “Put me down,” Louis suddenly demanded. He tried to squirm around in Harry’s arms, but it didn’t seem to work.

Harry put him down, and Louis was almost happy that Harry had listened to him, but he then felt soft sheets all around him. No, absolutely not. He was in his own bed, and if he were to be honest, Harry’s lap had been much more comfortable. He shuffled around for a few seconds, finding it hard to get on his knees, but when he managed to get there, he scurried up towards Harry, his hands settling on his hips and his nose somewhere around Harry’s navel. This would be a very interesting position if he were feeling like getting some action in with Harry, but right now he wanted to taste Harry’s mouth. His hands pulled at Harry’s shirt, trying to get him to lean down. Harry crouched down, face to face with Louis but keeping at least three feet between their faces, and when had that happened? Louis had had his hands on Harry’s hips a second ago and now he couldn’t even reach them?

He made grabby hands for Harry, and maybe he heard Harry sigh, but he was pretty sure it was just their ventilation being weird. Harry would never sigh at Louis. He loved Louis, he had even said so himself. “Gimme kiss,” Louis whined, and the ventilation made that sighing noise again.

He felt Harry trying to shuffle back slightly, so Louis pulled Harry towards him by the shoulders. He didn’t know when his hands had fallen to Harry’s shoulders, but he approved of it. Good hands. “Louis, I can’t.” It sounded sort of sad in Louis’s opinion. Why should Harry be sad? That was just all the more reason to kiss Louis.

Louis pouted, hands falling to his side. He wanted Harry to kiss him. Why did Harry not want to kiss Louis, but he accepted to kiss little children’s hurt spots? Louis perked up. He had an idea. “Harry, I have an owie.”

More weird ventilation sighing. “Where is it, Louis?” There was a look in Harry’s eyes that Louis didn’t like.

“Will you kiss it better?” Louis asked in lieu of responding.

That weird look in Harry’s eyes became more intense. “Where is it, Louis?” he repeated.

Louis smiled. “My lips.” He pouted his lips, offering them up to Harry. “Kissy kiss.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He pushed Louis back against the bed, heading for his legs. Louis liked where this was going. Harry lifted his feet up to push them underneath the covers, pulling the sheets up to Louis’s chin. This wasn’t what Louis had expected. Harry tried to fluff the pillow that was under Louis’s head. This was not what Louis had wanted. Harry tucked the sheets under Louis, successfully cocooning him in the bed. He then stepped away, and Louis had to stretch his neck to keep him in his sight. “Harry,” he whined. He wanted to try to get up and actually grab onto Harry but his limbs felt weirdly heavy, too heavy for him to move them. “I’m not tired.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, love, if you say so. I’m just going to get you a mug of warm water for you to drink and I’ll be right back. That sound good?”

Louis wanted to argue further, tell Harry that he didn’t want him to leave, but his tongue felt like a tonne of bricks in his mouth, and his eyelids had started to fall shut. He heard himself make a slight mumble of protest, but then again, it could’ve also been the ventilation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was okay, I'm quite happy with how it came out. I hope it wasn't too confusing, if you've got any questions, feel free to ask!
> 
> Once again, I'm sorry for the wait, 
> 
> Ju xx


	25. XXV part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is part I of chapter 25, because part two, although it could stand on its own, is very closely linked to certain parts of this, although it will be subtle how that is. I'm aware that this might be confusing considering how you don't have part II yet, but I will try to have it up soon!

There were mornings when Louis woke up and he could just tell that it would be a difficult day. Many reasons could lead to such a feeling; it might be because he had to be up before the sun, or because he was dreadfully sick and yet still had to be present for some kind of public appearance. Today, when Louis woke up, he knew it would be a hard and complicated day solely because of the sour taste in his mouth.

He rolled over in his bed, his legs tangling up in the sheets and making him fall to the ground in a salami roll of sweaty bed sheets. He grumbled out his discomfort, some kind of mumble coming out of his throat as he sat up on the floor. He looked around and spotted the glass of water that was placed inconspicuously on his bedside table, next to two pills that must have been painkillers. Louis sighed out in relief. His head was killing him – something like two dozen woodpeckers must be attacking his skull.

He got up, using the bed frame to push himself to an upright position, and swallowed the medicine. He walked over to the other side of the bed, pulling on a pair of pants that he didn’t remember having even taken off before he’d gone to bed the previous night, and making the dreadful mistake of turning on the light.

He squinted, groaning out in pain. The light was much too bright for his currently very sensitive head. “Oh Christ! For God’s sake, I’m getting too old for these types of hangovers, I reckon,” he cursed out.

He stumbled away from the now closed lamp, and turned around to face his bedroom door. He remembered parts of what had happened yesterday, something about going back to London in the near future and what that would mean, but he had no recollection of getting anywhere near plastered enough to get a hangover like this one. He wandered towards the door, pausing as he let his head hit the door. Something had happened yesterday night, he could tell. If only he could remember what it had been…

He turned the handle of the door, pulling it open and making his way towards the kitchen. He poured himself another large glass of water, having finished the one that had been on his bedside table. He leaned on the counter as he sipped it slowly. He couldn’t hear any noise, which was probably best; his headache was really killing him. He shook his head. Death by headache. How odd would that be in an obituary?

He walked around the kitchen, pulling all the curtains closed one by one, slowly submerging himself in darkness and silence.

From one of the windows, the last one he had to close the blinds to, he noticed something that struck him as kind of odd. He paused, the curtain midway to closed, his hand in the air as he observed what was going on through his squinted eyes. At first, he didn’t see what had piqued his curiosity, and it took him a few minutes to actually figure out what had caught his attention. He eventually figured out what it was that was out of place; towards the back of their yard, there usually was a motorcycle – Harry’s motorcycle. Louis thought his eyes might be playing tricks on him for a few moments, but after rubbing his fists against his eyelids, he came to the conclusion that he was seeing correctly. The bike was missing.

Louis slowly walked towards the patio door in the room adjacent to the kitchen, taking a few short steps outside to see if the vehicle might have simply been moved around in the backyard. After slowly looking all around, he had to face the fact that they were gone. He shielded his eyes as he returned inside. Had Harry left the house? Louis shook his head. Where would Harry have even gone? It wasn’t like there were that many places where there would be no one willing to sell out their location.

Louis found himself facing the front door, and he pulled it open to look at the driveway. It came as no surprise to him when he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary there. No bike. He checked the garage too, but didn’t find anything there either

He clutched at his water cup, walking back to the kitchen. Something was weird. Where was Harry? Louis could believe that he may have left – Harry after all did know the city better than Louis did; maybe he had gone somewhere he knew no one would see him. Louis would have to ask him about that. He was so sick of being stuck inside.

But why did he have to stay inside? If Harry really had left, and all the evidence pointed to that, then why should Louis not be able to go outside? They were going back in under a week; would it really be that bad if he was spotted walking outside? And Louis had grown fairly good at hiding away from prying eyes, managing to stay hidden away. A few hours outside shouldn’t be too difficult to manage, especially if he remained close to their neighbourhood and didn’t venture out near centre-ville.

He looked out the window, cringing at the bright sunlight. The brightness from the sun would definitely be a problem once outside.

He went upstairs, looking through his bedroom, searching for his aviators. He found them in the middle of his bed sheets, which made no sense, considering how he didn’t remember ever taking them out of his suitcase.

He put the sunglasses on, tugging a beanie on at the same time – if he was going to at least try and go about incognito, he might as well have some kind of a disguise on.

All in all, Louis’s walk lasted just under two hours, and by the end of it, he was full of fresh outdoors’ air. He might’ve been vaguely recognised by a few fans’ parents, but all in all, he considered himself lucky; no one had approached him, and the few that had seemed to have recognised him had been old enough to not be entirely sure of his identity. He was pretty certain that no pictures of him had been taken, which was quite surprising, to say the least, all things considered.

He stopped short at his driveway. Harry’s motorcycle was parked in the middle of the pavement.

Louis carefully made his way up the entryway, pushing the front door open and taking a few uncertain steps inside. “Hey,” he called out quietly, his voice dry. He could now remember a few extra things from what had happened yesterday, but he was well aware he was missing a large part of the evening.

Harry’s head popped up warily from the corner of the living room. “Hi,” he breathed out calmly. Harry cleared his throat, taking a few steps, coming fully into view. “Where were you?” he asked softly, and Louis loved that it wasn’t a reproachful tone, simply a curious one.

“I could ask you the same question,” Louis shrugged, smiling. He kicked his shoes off, leaning on the wall to his right to help keep his balance. “I was out on a walk. This house is driving me nuts, I couldn’t just spend another day holed up in it; ‘had to go out.” He smiled larger, a small laugh bubbling out of his throat. He had no idea what had changed since yesterday, he somehow knew that Harry understood that drunk Louis was different from sober Louis. That didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate the change. Everything felt easier between them, not quite as tense. They had made so much progress since Harry had arrived a few weeks ago.

Harry nodded, a small smile also edging at his lips, but his with a bit more uncertainty and wariness than Louis’s. “It’s pretty much the same thing for me. Needed to take some air, needed to get out of here.”

Louis walked around him, to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of juice and turning around to face Harry again. “Where did you go?”

“I just took my bike on a ride around the block a couple of times. Ended up stopping at Angela and Therese’s place for a cup of coffee. What about you?” Harry returned the question.

Louis finished his juice, setting his cup down on the counter. “Basically just a long walk. I sort of got lost at some point, ended up in this newer neighbourhood by the looks of it. Took a while for me to find my way back, had to sort of ask someone for directions.” Harry raised an eyebrow at this, but didn’t speak up. “The man ended up sort of pointing me in the wrong direction, and it took me about a good half hour before I realised as much.”

Harry smiled. “So do you think he recognised you?”

Louis shook his head. “Doubt it, I don’t think anyone really did, in all honesty. What about you? Were you recognised?”

Harry laughed out, as if what Louis had said was something extremely funny. “I was wearing a scarf up till my nose, and large sunglasses. Took your helmet instead of my gold one, too. I doubt anyone could even tell if I was a man or a woman.”

Louis smiled, looking over Harry’s shoulder and to a pink scarf that had seemingly been abandoned on the floor. “That one?” he jerked his head out towards it.

Harry turned around, sparing it a quick look before turning back, nodding his head.

“Mate, I’m sorry to say but you must have probably attracted a lot of attention with that one.”

Harry shrugged, looking somewhere between sheepish and shy. “I like it. And it’s not like there was actually anyone to see me, I felt like I was driving through a ghost town.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d see the day where you’d describe LA as a ghost town.” He looked vaguely surprised, but Harry could tell that he was just faking it. “Anyways, I’m gonna head up for a shower, so I’ll see you after, right?” Louis checked.

Harry nodded his answer, and Louis turned around to leave, but a hand wrapped around his forearm. He stopped, looking back at Harry in a questioning way. “Are we gonna talk about last night?” Harry asked, and Louis could feel how serious Harry was being.

He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, but he trusted that Harry had caught the movement, because he didn’t think he’d manage to say it out loud. Harry let go of the older boy’s arm, and Louis nodded one more time before turning around and making his way to his bathroom.

He showered quickly, the water leaning towards cold as it dripped down his skin. He let his hands comb through his hair, spreading the shampoo fully in the same way that Harry used to when they’d shower together. He switched to the body gel, rinsing off before turning the water off. He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he felt a few soft pellets of water fall to the ground.

He stepped out of the bathroom and into his room, fetching out some clean clothes and putting them on. He put a few other items of clothing away at the same time, figuring that he’d have to start cleaning up more seriously if he really were to leave soon.

He took a few deep breaths. He knew that as soon as he walked out of his room, he’d have to face Harry, and although he wanted and _needed_ to, he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready to do that yet. He counted to ten. Logically, he knew that he was only putting off the inevitable. He’d already dug his grave when he had accepted to talk about it with Harry; might as well lie in it now.

His hand lingered on the doorknob.

He could barely breathe, afraid that if he did, he might disturb the peace that had settled over him as he stood there. He counted down slowly from ten, promising himself to open the door once he reached zero.

He could do this. He would do this.

He and Harry had gone through so much at this point, one drunken night couldn’t possibly put that much strain on their relationship. Harry knew how to differentiate between the sober Louis and the drunk Louis.

Surely Harry would have learned by now that what Louis did when drunk wasn’t necessarily what he would do when he was sober. And really, that was the question; what had Louis done yesterday night?

He could remember starting off the night with Harry, Harry’s pizza, and some wine. He knew that there had also been beer. He knew that they’d talked about going back to London; that much had been planned out in Louis’s mind for a while beforehand. Louis was able to remember a few of the thoughts that he had had during the evening, but most of them didn’t make sense with the rest of what he knew. It was like his thoughts had been trying to distract him, not quite on topic with what was happening. Which might have been the case, in all honesty.

Louis couldn’t stand long, drawn-out conversations. He’d always end up off topic, or distracted, or daydreaming. It was sort of unrealistic to think that he was about to have a long, drawn-out conversation about the previous night’s long, drawn-out conversation. He almost laughed.

How would Louis even pull this off? Most of the things that he’d said or done after the beer – that he could remember – had been things that he’d not even meant.

No, that wasn’t right. He’d meant all those things. The difference was that he hadn’t been ready to say them out loud, or to do them – and he still wouldn’t be ready to say half those things now.

This was so messed up. How could he possibly go through with this? He couldn’t do this.

Louis took a deep breath.

Yes. He could, and he would, do this. They needed this, they’d agreed that they needed to work on opening up to one another.

With one last breath, Louis turned the handle, cringing slightly as he pulled the door open. He stopped in the doorway, giving himself a second before he’d actually start walking.

He turned down the hall, towards the stairs, but almost stopped immediately. Harry was sitting cross-legged in the hallway a few paces away, eyes cast down to the ground. Louis stared at him for a while before clearing his throat, making his presence known. Harry looked up at him, a smile spreading tentatively across his face.

“You done?” he asked, as if the answer wasn’t already obvious.

Louis nodded, leaning down to stretch his hand out to Harry, offering to help him up. Harry looked curiously at the extended hand before taking it in his and getting to his feet. Harry went to let go once he was upright, but Louis gave a minuscule squeeze, hopping that Harry would understand he didn’t want him to let go. Harry seemed to get it.

They went down the stairs hand in hand. Logically, Louis knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. He was tearing his walls down brick by brick, and he wasn’t sure that he was ready to reveal himself fully again.

They walked to the living room, but instead of sitting down on the couches, Louis pulled Harry down next to him on the floor. Harry obliged.

Louis turned Harry’s hand over in his own hands. It had been so long since the last time he’d had Harry’s fingers interwoven with his own, a steadying pressure, keeping him somewhat grounded. And that was exactly what he needed now; to stay grounded.

“So. I was thinking,” Harry started, his eyes also trained to their hands, “like, maybe, you could try telling me what you remember, and how you feel about what you remember?”

Louis sighed. “I remember a few things. It’s kind of blurry, by parts, and I can’t exactly make out what actually happened from what I thought of doing or saying, but,” he cleared his throat, and if he was just trying to buy himself some time, then no one else had to know, “like, I can remember pretty clearly what happened up until I finished maybe the beer, I think.” The end of his sentence had come out as a mumble, but that was still better than nothing. “I know we talked about moving in together in London, and although I’m not entirely sold to the idea yet, I think it could be a possibility. Eventually. And like, I’d keep my flat, just like you suggested.”

Harry nodded, giving Louis’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Louis shifted his legs beneath him, sitting down on his foot. “And I know that you tried to get me to stop drinking, when you became more aware of my doing so.” Louis coughed. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I shouldn’t have put you in that situation, I should’ve said no right off the bat to alcohol.”

Harry didn’t move, his eyes trained on the ground. “It’s okay. Well, no, it’s obviously not okay, but I shouldn’t have offered. But,” he paused, hesitating. “But, can I ask you a question? And can you try to answer honestly?”

Louis nodded without thinking, although his answer wouldn’t have changed had he taken a few seconds to ponder over it. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

Harry exhaled loudly, finally looking at Louis. Louis could feel his gaze, but he kept staring at the ground. “Why did you end up drinking so much?” He paused. “You’d mentioned that you used to drink to forget, but then you’d said that you didn’t feel the need to forget anymore.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Louis quietly interrupted.

“So why?”

Louis sighed. “I needed something to encourage me, to give me the strength to have the conversation I was planning to have with you.”

Louis could feel Harry’s gaze heavily against his skin. “But why couldn’t you stop drinking, then? It seemed like it was impossible for you to stop.”

Louis felt his skin grow warm, and he didn’t exactly know how to explain what had happened. He still tried to the best of his ability. “At first it was like the more I drank, the easier it became for the words to escape my mouth. But at some point, it stopped being that, and it became like, umm – I don’t really know how to explain this.”

Harry ran his thumb across the palm of Louis’s hand. “Just try, please. I want to understand.”

Louis nodded. “It was like the alcohol was soothing some kind of phantom itch in the back of my throat. It was a kind of itch I hadn’t even known existed until it was too late, until I’d already had too much alcohol to drink.”

Harry didn’t move much, the only thing Louis could see from the corner of his eye was his chest steadily rising and falling. “Is that – the itch – is it still there?” he asked cautiously.

Louis took a few seconds to consider it. He didn’t feel the need to drink quite as badly as he had the previous night. Did that mean that the itch was no longer there? He swallowed, testing his throat out. “It’s still vaguely there, but it’s nowhere near as terrible as it had been yesterday. And it’s not constantly there, just sometimes.” He paused, swallowing again. “When I swallow, it’s like it’s more present. I don’t know why.”

Harry nodded, and Louis turned his head slightly to look at the younger boy, taking in his appearance. He had well-defined bags under his eyes, the kind that Louis had in another life learned to associate with restless sleep and worrying. His hair was fairly tousled, sticking out at odd ends. His lips were the kind of red puffiness that was only achieved through constant biting. Overall, Harry looked like a personification of Louis’s hangover.

Harry tightened his grip around Louis’s hand ever so slightly. “Okay.” A silence settled between them, and Louis knew that Harry would be the one to break it. After half a dozen minutes, this assumption proved to be correct. “If I were to tell you that we kissed yesterday, what would you say?” Louis noticed the way Harry’s words came out; slowly and heavily.

“I would believe you,” Louis answered simply. “It makes sense with what I remember.”

“What do you remember?” Harry encouraged him.

“I don’t remember the kiss, if that’s what you mean. I simply remember thinking that I wanted to kiss you badly.” Louis tried to smile, and he was pretty sure he’d succeeded, albeit the smile was probably a small one. “I’m already aware that you know that everything I think when I’m drunk is the same thing as what I think when I’m sober. We spent enough time together getting drunk for you to have figured that out. But Harry?” He waited a few seconds. “I need you to respect the fact that I would’ve never done it if I hadn’t been intoxicated.”

Harry nodded, but he needed Louis to understand something. “I kissed you back, at first,” he said tentatively.

Louis smiled. “That also makes sense.”

Harry leaned in towards Louis, but he made sure to keep his distances. “I pulled back, not too long after, though. I want to give you all the time you could ever need to feel comfortable again around me, and if that means that I have to ‘chicken out’ when you’re drunk, then so be it. I know we’re getting there, but I’m not crazy. I know we’re not there yet – I myself still have a few hicks to work through, so how could you not – but I just want you to realise that you’re leading.”

Louis looked shocked. “You pulled back?”

Harry nodded, sure of himself. “Like I said; we kissed for a few seconds, but I pulled away soon enough. You seemed to want more, but I couldn’t let it happen.” It was Louis’s turn to give Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll apologise to Drunk Louis, but not for pulling away. For giving him alcohol. I’m sorry.”

Louis shook his head, still somewhat surprised. “Don’t apologise, I’m done with hearing apologies,” he jokingly said. “But thank you, Harry. For being the stronger person yesterday. I needed you to do that. And, well, thank you for giving me time.” He whispered the last sentence, but it was still just as genuine as the other words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> xx Julianne


	26. XXV part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add this to chapter XXV part I in hopefully a week in order to just make it chapter XXV, just wanted to get it out first and foremost as an individual chapter so it wouldn't be too confusing. It's pretty important to remember that last chapter, they talked about Louis's drinking and that towards the end of part I, Louis had thanked Harry for giving him time.
> 
> I'm also hoping that it's clear enough this is a flashback (it's writen in the beginning, but just in case). It goes back to before they'd broken up, starting right after Louis's meeting with Modest!

_Louis could still remember when he’d walked through their front door, a number of weeks ago, after the meeting with management that had changed everything. Well, maybe it hadn’t changed everything, but for him, and possibly Harry, it had._

_He’d been resolute about wanting to avoid the engagement, and had soon enough made a plan on how to avoid it having to happen. The plan was full of simple steps that had been laid out across the past few weeks, happening gradually in order to not freak Harry out._

_Louis sometimes felt bad for it, but he knew that it would hurt Harry even more if he were to tell him what Modest! had planned for them, so he kept his mouth shut and carried on with the plan._

_The first week, he’d simply stopped searching for Harry’s eyes every time he could, giving them a bit of distance where management wanted it. He wouldn’t obviously look for Harry whenever he was having a conversation with someone else, wouldn’t try to capture his gaze as soon as they had to be separated. It didn’t seem like much of a difference, but Louis could feel it, pulling at his gut._

_After week one came week two, where Louis managed to keep his hands to himself a bit more with each passing day. His hands stopped reaching out to Harry on their own accord; he stopped openly needing Harry._

_At week three, which had been a week ago, Louis was on the verge of breaking, but he knew that he couldn’t stop now. Management had called on Monday to say that, in a strange turn of events, the engagement would no longer be necessary. Something about the fans calming down. Louis was proud of how his plan had turned out. He just wished Harry could be of the same opinion._

_Week three had been the most painful one yet. Louis would often wake up before Harry, simply to be out of bed and showered by the time Harry would get up._

_(“Lou?” Harry’s hoarse voice had come out, searching for Louis from the bedroom. Louis had cringed, feeling and hearing the worry and the sadness in Harry’s voice. This had been the third morning that Harry had woken up to an empty bed, and Louis felt bad for doing it. But it had to be done. “Lou?” Harry had called out again, louder this time._

_Louis’s fingers had clenched around his plate, forcing himself to swallow down his food, past the heavy lump in his throat. He had heard the soft patter of Harry’s feet as he had come closer to Louis. Finally, his head had come out around the corner of the dining room, where Louis was._

_Sad green eyes had met his own ones, and Louis had almost broken down crying at how he could see Harry’s heart slowly breaking in them. Louis had swallowed once again, breathing in deeply. He had schooled his features into something he hoped would seem friendly enough. He had smiled at Harry, and he could see Harry’s face brightening up very slightly at that._

_Louis was still somewhat there!_

_Harry had closed the gap between them, encircling Louis’s waist with his arms. “Wanna go shower?” Harry had asked, nosing at Louis’s neck, and this was always, without doubt, the hardest part for Louis. He had wanted to shout out ‘Yes!’ at the top of his lungs; he had wanted to remain in Harry’s arms forever, wanted to never leave Harry alone ever again. Instead, he’d shaken his head shyly, offering Harry a small smile as the latter pulled away slightly to look at Louis._

_“Already showered before you got up,” he had said weakly, and Louis had felt Harry deflating around him. “Sorry.”_

_Harry had shrugged, trying to play it off, but Louis could see the tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t. “Do you have anywhere to be in particular?” Harry had asked, and Louis knew that Harry was trying to find an explanation._

_Louis had shaken his head from side to side, and Harry’s arms had dropped from around his waist. “No,” he had whispered silently, and at this point, he knew that Harry’s expression was mirrored in his own eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he was only human, and purposefully hurting his Harry would never get easier._

_He had swallowed, once again, and his throat had never felt this dry, reminding himself of why he was doing this. He was doing this for Harry, to protect him from what he knew would happen if he for some reason really had to go from publicly dating Eleanor to publicly being engaged to her._

_“Oh,” Harry had let out, and it was mostly like he had been punched in the gut. “Well, I guess I’ll go alone, then.”_

_Louis had nodded, not wanting to have to do this. He had watched as Harry had pulled away._

_Harry had taken a step back, but he seemed to be battling something out interiorly. Louis had given him time, picking his plate, which had at some point been put down on the table behind him, back up. Harry finally seemed to have made up his mind, and nervously stepped up to Louis. He had ducked in towards Louis, and Louis had barely had time to turn his head slightly to the left, Harry’s mouth meeting with the corner of Louis’s own._

_He had felt Harry tense up as he pulled away, could hear him as he gasped, could see him breaking down as he walked away, his body shaking with the soft sobs that were passing through him._

_Harry had wanted to share a chaste kiss with Louis. Louis had turned away. Harry’s lips has missed Louis’s own, instead meeting with the corner of his mouth._

_This had been the first time Louis had avoided one of Harry’s kisses. It had been the first time that Louis had turned away from one of Harry’s kisses._

_“I love you,” Louis had mumbled to Harry’s retreating back, but he knew that it was far too soft for the younger lad to catch the words._

_That morning, Louis had ended up curled up on his bed, his body rocked with the rhythm of his crying, while Harry had sat in the shower, letting all of his tears roll down his cheeks along with the water that was hitting his skin._

_Louis hated doing this.)_

_He was currently starting week four, and as it turned out, he was in a constant state of wanting to both punch someone and wanting to break down crying. It was somewhere around midnight, and he was walking towards his car, in some parking lot._

_He’d been trying recently to get home as late as possible, because it was simply too hard to have to be on the receiving end of the broken looks that were the only thing Harry could offer Louis as of recently. Yesterday, he’d spent the evening at Niall’s, up until the lad had kicked him out with a mumbled “You’ve got your own bloody house with your own bloody boyfriend waiting for you. Go take care of him and_ leave me alone _.”_

_Today, he’d known not to make that mistake again. There was no way Niall would have taken him in again, not even if he’d promise to leave by nightfall. Instead, he’d driven around without aim for countless hours, finally stopping in the parking lot to a grocery store. He’d gotten out of his car and sat down on the ground next to his car, staring up at the sky for an undetermined period of time._

_He was now getting back into his car, the cold chill of the beginning of November having slowly but steadily crept up on him during these past few hours, until it was no longer possible for him to ignore it. He sat down, turning the engine on, and praying to God that it would be late enough into the night for Harry to not still be awake._

_As soon as the engine started up, the clock showed that it was almost midnight. 11:54 PM. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, but his best bet was probably somewhere between half an hour and forty five minutes away from home. He might be able to stretch that to an hour if he respected the driving limits to the letter, never going even slightly above them. By then, it would be nearly one, and he wouldn’t count on Harry having stayed up that late._

_Louis pulled out of the parking lot, starting to drive in a direction he hoped would bring him home. If all came to worse, he’d put the GPS on._

_Louis could feel Harry pulling away more and more with each passing day. Louis had no idea what Harry thought was going on, but he could sense that Harry was going at Louis’s pace, whatever that may be. It was almost like he was tiptoeing around Louis, letting him call all the shots. Louis didn’t know if he liked that or not, but he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for what was happening, especially because it was working._

_It seemed the fans had picked up on the tension – or maybe tension wasn’t the right word. They had picked up on the distance that had started to separate Louis from Harry and vice versa. Louis had no idea what they picked up on – was it how Harry looked at him? Or maybe it was the proximity their bodies always ended up falling into when they were around each other. Maybe it was just the quiet bantering they always seemed to involuntarily fall victim to that had somehow disappeared. Whatever it was, it had changed sufficiently for it to be noticed by a group of fans._

_Louis took a shoulder off of the highway, his car slowing down as he took the fast curve of it._

_His jaw clenched as he thought of the possibility that Harry might still be awake when Louis got back. In that case, what he had planned as the next step in his plan wouldn’t work. He would never be able to do what he intended to if he had to take in the heartbroken look that Harry would surely be throwing his way._

_Louis shook his head. It was useless to think of what ifs in this case, so instead, Louis concentrated on his driving._

_It ended up taking him just a bit under an hour, and when he did reach the driveway, it was in fear of what would be waiting for him on the other side of the door. Or perhaps he should say whom. If Harry really was awake, then he’d have to rethink this part of his plan._

_He walked up to the front door cautiously, dragging his feet and looking up at the house with dread in his eyes. He finally made it up the stairs, and he knew as he rested his hand on the doorknob that he couldn’t put this off any longer than he’d already done. At this point, a few minutes would definitely not make any difference._

_He pushed the door open slowly, swearing under his breath as the hinges creaked._

_He took a few steps forward, shutting the door behind himself, and finally looking up._

_He exhaled in relief, his eyes dancing around the room to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, but how could he? It was completely dark in the house, the only light coming in from the moon outside. There wasn’t any noise that could signal that Harry was walking around, the only sound being the creaking of the floorboards._

_Harry must be asleep._

_Louis still stayed immobile for a few extra seconds before starting to move towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He closed the door behind himself before opening the light, turning around to face his reflection in the mirror._

_He recognised the person there, but as he took his shirt off, he noticed the obvious lack of bruises that Harry would have left on him. It didn’t become any better when he pulled his jeans off, letting them drop to the floor in a heap of clothing. His skin was almost perfectly unmarked, the only contrast being the bruise on his left calf from when he’d bumped into the leg of a chair a few days ago. However, it seemed that his body was compensating for this by intensifying the bags under Louis’s eyes. He brought his right hand up, gently, his fingers dancing across the puffiness under his eyes; that surely wouldn’t go away if he went through with what he was planning on doing._

_He sighed softly, starting to brush his teeth with the toothbrush he’d placed here this morning for this exact reason._

_Harry deserved someone who could be there with him all the time, not someone like Louis who could only be his when they were behind closed doors._

_(“But Haz,” Louis had argued a few months ago, back before they had been pushed on the edge of a precipice. “You could have literally anyone else. You could have someone that you’re allowed to be with.”_

_“First of all, I’ve only ever wanted you,” Harry had answered, and if Louis remembered correctly, he had been tying a bandana in his hair. He’d turned around to look directly at Louis. “No one else could ever come close to being you.”_

_Louis had squirmed under Harry’s heavy gaze, murmuring a soft “cheesy.”_

_Harry had smirked. “And let’s say that I find someone else who’s even half as wonderful as you are. Let’s say that you and I’ve never dated, or this happened before we got together, or whatever weird universe this has to be set in, in order for me not to be totally gone for you. Do you really think that Modest! would allow me to date that person? I’m not even saying it’s a guy, maybe in this strange universe I wouldn’t have a set preference for blokes, and maybe I’d be dating a girl there. But either way, I don’t think they’d be quite ready to ruin the image they’ve laid out for me.”_

_“What if they were?” Louis had asked, and Harry had closed in on him, his hands coming to rest gently on Louis’s hips._

_He had pecked at Louis’s lips, making Louis blush slightly. “Then if they were, it would still be you, because in this universe? I absolutely_ do _have preference for blokes. And you’re my favourite bloke.”)_

_Louis spit into the sink, rinsing his mouth with water. He was doing this for Harry, he absolutely was. That’s why, instead of making his way to his and Harry’s shared bedroom, he went towards the living room, grabbing a blanket and pillow from one of the spare rooms on his way there. For the first time in months, years even, Louis was going to willingly sleep on his own._

_He set his makeshift bed up on the largest couch, lying down on top of the cushions. He wasn’t going to try sleeping in one of their other beds; he knew he would never manage to fall asleep knowing that Harry was in their bed, a mere few metres away from him. He was hoping, though, that the back cushion to the sofa would sort of dim down the missing body by his side._

_He snuggled up into it, biting down on his lower lip hard. He felt tears well up in his eyes, sadness coming over him as he tried to fall asleep. He wanted Harry next to him. Instead, he snuggled up close to the back of the couch, sniffling gently._

_Sure, there were nights when they’d fight, but even then, they would often sleep in the same bed. They were almost never mad enough to sleep away from each other, and when they were, they’d go out to their mum’s, or one of the other boys’ places. Tonight, Louis was sleeping on the couch of his own house, while his boyfriend slept in their bed._

_Louis must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time he came to, the sun was already out. He opened his eyes, rubbing at them to try and will the fatigue away. He hadn’t slept very well without Harry, but it would have to do._

_He turned around, the blanket tangling up in his legs as he tried to sit up._

_He turned his head around a bit, and even in his still slumbering state, he caught the silhouette of another person looking at him from the corner of the room. He stiffened, and even realising that it was only Harry didn’t do anything to make him loosen up._

_“‘Morning,” Harry’s voice floated out to him, and Louis almost cringed when he heard the hint of fear and heartbreak in his voice._

_“Yes, umm, good morning?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question. Louis cleared his throat, still under Harry’s scrutinising staring._

_A few seconds settled between them. “You didn’t come to bed last night?” Harry asked, and Louis tried to ignore the slight quiver in his tone that was a dead giveaway that Harry was about to cry._

_Louis stood up, not able to look at Harry. His lip was probably quivering too, and that would just make Louis throw up, because_ he _was the one doing this to Harry. No, none of that. He was doing this_ for _Harry. “Didn’t wanna wake you up,” he settled for, and it wasn’t a complete lie. It just came nowhere close to the truth._

_He reached the kitchen, opening the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice. “What time did you get back at?”_

_Louis shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not quite sure.” Lie. “Three or four?” Lie._

_It might’ve been just his imagination – actually, it probably was – but Louis felt like Harry recoiled at that. “What were you doing that late at night?” Harry asked, and Louis recognised that look in his eyes. He was hoping for something._

_Louis decided to at least give Harry part of the truth, because he’d had to lie about when he’d come back. He didn’t even entirely know why he’d lied. “I just drove around for a bit. Stopped in a parking lot at some point and just stayed there. It was far out enough that I could see the stars, and it was really truly beautiful. You would’ve loved it.”_

_Apparently, that wasn’t what Harry had wanted to hear, because his bottom lip now started to quiver. Louis still refused to meet his eyes. He concentrated on calming his breathing down, lest he say something stupid that he absolutely meant, but would make all his progress useless. Harry seemed to be debating something, finally deciding to turn and walk away. He paused after a few steps, however. “Louis?” his small voice came out, scared but determined._

_Louis hummed in answer._

_“Did I do anything wrong?” he asked, and Louis swore under his breath. Harry needed to understand he hadn’t done anything wrong._

_“No, shit, of course not, Harry. Why would you think that?” he hurried out, a long line of curse words on a loop in his head._

_Harry angled his body slightly towards Louis, but his back was still the main thing Louis could see. Harry was looking at his feet as he spoke up again. “It’s just – you’ve been pulling away, I think.” And there it was. Louis had been stupid enough to think that this wouldn’t affect them in ways other than their public image._

_“I’m sorry, H. I guess I’ve been a bit on edge recently; I think management are planning something for Eleanor and me, and I’ve been dreading it quite a bit.” He added a chuckle on the end of his sentence, for good measure. “Just give me time.”_

_Harry nodded, and Louis had no other choice but to look at his retreating back, feeling like he had missed something big._

_Sitting down on the kitchen floor, Louis let loose of his emotions, tears running wildly down his cheeks._

_Harry, sitting down on the stairs a few rooms away, couldn’t cry. He felt like he’d ran out of tears after he’d heard Louis come home last night at almost 2:00 am. He’d not fallen asleep yet, simply waiting for Louis to come to bed with him, wanting desperately to curl up around him, but that had never been possible, seeing as how even when Louis had gotten back to their home, he never entered their bedroom, and when Harry had gotten up a half hour later to check on Louis, it was only to find him sleeping on the couch._

_Harry had figured that after lying about what time he’d gotten back, Louis must have also lied about where he’d been the previous night._

_That was the first and last time that Harry asked about why Louis was pulling away, because if he could lie about stuff as trivial as that, then it must be truly horrifying what he was actually doing, and at that point, Harry preferred not knowing. Ignorance was bliss, and all that._

_Two days later, when Louis showed no signs of wanting to return to their shared bed, Harry started sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms, finding that their bed no longer felt welcoming without Louis in it beside him._

_Louis kept on sleeping on the couch, and each night, Harry fell asleep to a steady mantra of “just give me time,” recited in a voice freakishly similar to Louis’s, going around his head over and over again._

_In about a week, Louis’s world would come to a stop when Harry would come home at noon after never coming back the night before. Harry would have tears running down his face and a mild hangover, and he would, after profusely apologising, speak the words that Louis thought he would never have to hear, even less from Harry. “I slept with someone else last night.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm aware this took a while to get out, I'm not going to bore you with reasons, just that I'm nearing midterms and that from now on I've got basically minimal free time whatsoever, so just know that whenever I do, I'll try to write a lot!
> 
> This was also pretty hard to write for me, and you might be able to see why, seeing as how it's this pretty sad moment between Harry and Louis. 
> 
> Fingers crossed I'll be able to update soon, 
> 
> Julianne xx


	27. XXVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being together in LA for so long, Harry and Louis come to the realisation that they have to go home quite soon, actually. This might not be as easy as they'd initially thought, though, as they don't quite know where _home_ is anymore.
> 
> (But being in LA has had its perks, as they've had time to talk a large number of things over, including, but not limited to, what it is exactly that lead to their break up, the ways they've each found of coping and why exactly Louis drinks a lot now.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, let me just say how incredibly _sorry_ I am that this didn't come any sooner. I am sososo very sorry, and a big sorry too to the people whom I told that this would come wayyyyy sooner than it actually did.
> 
> I've got various reasons, ranging from college is a lot more crazy than I thought it would be, to a lot of personal issues I've been going to, and a lot more stuff. So I do have reasons why this couldn't be out any sooner, but now I've finished my semester (with only finals left) so yeah.
> 
>  So once again, huge apologies and thank you for still being here.
> 
> I tried to put a summary of the last few chapters in the very few words I had, but I didn't include XXV part II in that summary, just because it didn't fit so well so here it is: flashback to the month or so leading up to the break up, where we actually see _how much_ Louis actually pulled away from Harry, all leading up to the first time Harry cheated.

The woman was standing beside Louis, a professional smile gracing her features. Her hair was brought up in a tight bun, and her teeth were a blinding white her teeth were, contrasting brilliantly with her dark skin. “Hello, sirs.” She had both hands on the kart that she was pushing, which was covered in juice boxes and small snacks. “Would you like something to drink for your trip?” she asked, looking to both Louis and Harry.

They had taken off from Los Angeles at most half an hour ago, and the seatbelt sign had just come off. The air hostesses had come out nearly at the same time to serve beverages, and Louis figured snacks as well.

Louis sucked on his bottom lip, catching it between his front teeth. He wanted to ask what their cocktails were – if they even had anything – but he knew that it was best to stay away from anything with alcohol. Harry cocked his head at Louis, waiting for his answer. Louis sighed, before looking back at the flight attendant – Samantha, her nametag read. “I’ll just have some water, thank you.”

She nodded, bending down and pulling a bottle of water out, handing it over to Louis along with a napkin and a cup half filled with ice. She turned her head, her smile still as bright as ever, and looked to Harry, but he didn’t pay her any mind; was still looking at Louis.

Louis gently reached for Harry’s hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. “You can have a cocktail, H. I don’t mind.” He squeezed once again – Louis figured it was for emphasis or something.

Louis didn’t have to look at Harry to know that he was smiling. “I know, but I won’t.” He looked up at the woman, smiling back at her. “Sorry. Would you happen to serve tea?” he asked, and Louis almost let a laugh bubble out from his lips. “I don’t care what kind it is,” Harry added, a glint in his eyes that made Louis think that he had caught Louis’s attempt at hiding his reaction.

Samantha shuffled through a few items on her cart, picking up a few envelopes and handing them to Harry. She then reached for what appeared to be a small-sized kettle and poured a cup of boiling hot water, leaning over Louis to give it to Harry. “We sure do,” she said, sending one last smile their way before moving on to the next passengers.

Louis thought about letting go of Harry’s hand, but ended up deciding against it. Instead, he tried to open his water bottle one-handed, which, as a matter of fact, proved to be harder than he’d anticipated; it was actually a very terrible idea. He still eventually managed to open it by squeezing it between his arm – the right one, where his hand was holding on to Harry’s – and his chest, using his other hand to twist the cap open.

“Ha!” he exclaimed when he heard the seal crack, and he poured some water into his cup, his expression having turned smug. He titled his chin up, looking towards Harry, who was letting his tea brew.

“Congrats, Louis. You know you could have just used your other hand, right?” Harry teased, his tongue poking out for the shortest of moments to come lick at his lips. Louis almost didn’t see it.

Louis blushed. He fucking blushed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually blushed around Harry. “Would’ve taken all of the fun out of it,” he mumbled, but he didn’t miss the small smile that Harry sent his way. Louis looked on as Harry removed the tea pouch, placing it in the centre of the napkin that the air hostess had also given him. Louis bit his lip, and this time a laugh did bubble out from his mouth. “What kind of posh person asks for tea on an aeroplane? Isn’t that like dangerous or something? Boiling hot water on a flying engine in the sky; what happens if it spills?”

Harry looked at him over the rim of his cup. “You clean the mess up.”

Louis shrugged. “You’re still being posh in my books.”

Harry swallowed a sip. “You used to order tea on almost all of our plane rides. Plus, you can also get, like, coffee. So it mustn’t be that dangerous.”

Louis shuffled around, accidentally nudging Harry over the armrest. “Whatever.” He drank some of his water, and wondered if he should’ve maybe chosen tea instead. “How is it anyway?”

Harry made a small grimace. “Pretty shite, honestly. It’s lukewarm, and not my favourite type of tea.” Maybe he made a good call with water after all.

Louis held his hand out, beckoning for the tea. “Let me try it.” Harry handed it over – carefully, as it was still relatively full. Louis took a sip of it, his face contorting into a grimace for the briefest of moments. “ _What is that?_ ” he hissed to Harry, handing him the Styrofoam cup back. Harry had been generous when he’d said the tea was lukewarm – Louis thought _cold_ would’ve been a much better word to describe it. Louis also thought it was surprising – a miracle, even – how bad the tea could taste, considering how watered down it really was.

Harry giggled. It made Louis smile. “It’s supposed to be green tea, but I honestly doubt that that’s what it actually is.”

“I have to agree. I think it’s more like dirty soap water.” He coughed.

“Oh come on,” Harry argued. “It’s not that bad!”

Louis scoffed. “Would you honestly finish it then?” he asked. Harry shot his cup a glance, cringing ever so slightly. “That’s what I thought. Did you even look at the envelope to make sure you were actually being served tea?” At Harry’s nonplussed expression, Louis sighed. He took his hand out of Harry’s, grabbing the tea cup instead, looking around before he turned it over in one of the vomit bags, which he’d gotten off the wall beneath the porthole. He put the now empty cup back down in front of Harry, smirking at him. “They can pick it up now!”

Harry snorted. “Because we couldn’t just ask the lady to pick it up when she went by the next time?” he said, but Louis could make out the smile in his voice, so he figured it wasn’t too bad.

“You’re taking all the fun out of it,” he still argued, because he couldn’t just _give up_ , now could he? Still, he sagged back into his seat, pushing his lips out into a pout. He crossed his arms out in front of him, turning ever so slightly away from Harry, who burst out into laughter.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said softly, his hand reaching out to grab Louis’s. He linked his fingers with Louis’s, turning their hands over in his lap to look at them. He let a silence fall between them, and Louis couldn’t help but notice how it was a comfortable, light silence. Louis melted further into his seat, his eyes closing softly. “Are you tired?” Harry whispered, accompanying his question with a slight pressure to Louis’s hand.

Louis hummed in response. “’m comfortable.”

Harry chuckled, and Louis felt him moving around in his seat. “I’d hope so, this isn’t exactly a short flight.” He ran his thumb over the back of Louis’s hand, making Louis sigh softly. “How about we start by taking a nap? I’m sort of tired too.”

Louis could feel sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness, but he still needed to know something before he let himself completely drift off. “And after?” He wasn’t quite sure he’d actually said it out loud, but at this point he wouldn’t be surprised if Harry could actually read his mind.

“After?” Harry repeated, seeming confused, even to Louis’s already sleep-hazy brain. Harry still shrugged, though, saying, “After, we can try to get to know each other again. How’s that sound?”

Louis felt the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile. He thought that sounded good, and he trusted that Harry already knew, because Louis didn’t feel like opening his mouth to answer. So instead, he leaned over a bit towards Harry, deciding that it would be okay to use his shoulder as a pillow. At least, he didn’t hear Harry complaining in any way, so he figured that that was as good a sign as any.

He felt an arm reach around his shoulder, pulling him closer to Harry as he nuzzled into his shirt. It smelled of Harry.

***

Louis woke up a while later to the steady humming of an engine and the comforting warmth of Harry’s strong body next to him. He shifted around a bit, supposing that he should try to push up away from Harry a bit. He still didn’t move by much, only really shaking his left leg out a bit.

“Hey,” he heard from next to him. “Did I wake you?”

Louis shook his head. “How long until we land?” he asked. The aeroplane seat was really starting to get uncomfortable. It might be a sign that he should move a bit. He still didn’t.

“I’m not sure. I woke up just a bit before you.”

“And you didn’t feel like checking?”

Louis felt Harry smile. “Didn’t wanna risk waking you,” he said softly. “Plus,” he added, “you’re quite adorable when you’re asleep. I hadn’t seen you like that in a while.”

That’s when Louis really noticed how close he was to Harry. He was half on top of him, almost sat in his lap, actually. His hands were fisted in Harry’s shirt, his head pillowed against his chest. Maybe he should pull away, make up some excuse. But really, whose fault was it; Harry was comfortable, and he _did_ miss him. He turned his face into Harry’s shirt, settling for a muffled “sorry, I’m sort of on top of you, aren’t I?” He didn’t quite care enough to wonder when the armrest between them had disappeared.

This time, Harry actually laughed. “Don’t quite remember ever being bothered by it. Although I might have to get up to go to the loo in the near future.”

“How near?” Louis asked, and he wouldn’t hesitate to confront anyone who dared accuse him of whining.

“Maybe now?”

Louis groaned, but slowly sat back up in his seat, “You know you could’ve just woke me up,” he said begrudgingly, but it was mostly just for the sake of it. As in it was what was expected of him to say. He didn’t actually mean it, though; he had been so comfortable sleeping with Harry acting as his pillow, couldn’t really imagine being happy about being woken up, let alone to allow Harry to get away.

Harry stood up with a single pat to Louis’s thigh. “You and I both know that that’s absolutely not true,” he answered, followed with a laugh. “Anyways, I’ll be back in a few minutes, then we can talk about what I told you we could do. You know, before we both fell asleep.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving Louis to try and remember the conversation they had had right before falling asleep, but it was really a lost cause. Louis was truly terrible at remembering stuff that happened when he was almost sleeping, and the vague memory he had told him that that was when the talk had taken place.

He shrugged, figuring that he could wait a bit for Harry to come back – after all, there was no way it had been a life-or-death matter; if that had been the case, surely Harry would’ve chosen a better time to tell Louis. Instead, he leaned back in his seat. Pushing his feet out as far as they would go. He then sat back up, reaching underneath his seat and pulling a backpack out. He searched through it for a bit, taking a few minutes to locate what it was that he was looking for before finally laying a hand on something he hadn’t used in what seemed like forever. His phone.

Now was finally the time to turn it on and come out from this haven where he seemed to have been hiding for the past few weeks, having been temporarily erased from the face of the Earth.

He spent a few seconds just allowing the weight of the object to press against his hand without doing much else. When that started to get old, he held the power button down, waiting until the screen lit up before letting go. He felt the phone vibrate to life in his hands. And then the home screen was appearing under his eyes, and before he had even had time to think it through, he was rushing to the settings screen, turning on the aeroplane mode.

So maybe he wasn’t totally ready to see what Modest! had to say about his and Harry’s little escapade, or how Twitter had reacted to their disappearances. Although he could easily just argue that he was doing it because of plane regulations. Obviously. It definitely wasn’t because he was hiding. That would simply be preposterous.

“You took your phone out?” a voice asked, making Louis jump in surprise before he realised that it was just Harry. Of course it was him, who else could it be?

Louis got up to let Harry back into his seat. “Yeah, I did.” Harry sat down. “Have you taken yours out?” Louis asked.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to know what’s going on yet. Plus I trust that Gemma’s left me a few colourful messages of her own, and I figured that reading those can wait.” He smirked.

Louis smiled, knowing exactly what Harry was talking about. He’d been a victim to one of those messages a few too many times, and more often than not it had happened face to face. At least now they wouldn’t have to look into her eyes while listening to her – often true – remarks. Harry plopped down next to him, and Louis could feel him looking at him, so he turned to meet his gaze. “So,” he started, and _oh how original_. “What did you wanna talk about? Before you left for the bathroom, I mean.”

Harry laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t remember.” And Louis would get offended, but… “Anyway,” Harry continued, “what I meant to talk to you about is that I think we could try and get to know each other again. We’ve definitely got the time, at least.” Louis frowned. At his perplexed look, Harry tagged on a quick, “We have barely talked in over a year. I thought it was about time we got to catching up, don’t you? Plus, it’s not like we’ve got that much to do on this plane.”

Louis thought about it. There was so much he already knew about Harry, but at the same time, this past month had really shown him how little he actually _did_ know; how much had instead changed. Harry used to open the telly first thing in the morning, each day, to check what was going on internationally. He’d close it after ten minutes – which Louis had always argued didn’t make any sense ( _“how could you possibly know everything that’s been going on internationally after_ only _ten minutes?”_ ) – and go to the kitchen, putting the kettle on. This was around the time that Louis would usually get up, walking over to Harry and edging his way underneath his chin, melding their entire fronts together to steel a drawn-out kiss from his lips. Louis had always liked their little routine, and even the regular changes they made to it. It used to really allow him realise that even though a lot of things changed around them, the essential would still remain intact – or as close to intact as they could get. And maybe it was okay that Louis hadn’t gotten to spy on Harry watching the news for the brief ten minutes Harry had always seemed to enjoy, and maybe he wasn’t quite ready to get back to how things were before, but he couldn’t help but feel relatively bitter about those changes.

He didn’t like the emptiness that was left in the shadow of their routine.

“Yeah, I think that could be a great idea,” he settled on after a silence that was so long, it had probably seemed like he had simply forgotten what they’d been talking about. Harry nodded, but didn’t add anything else, so Louis figured he would need to push. “So did you have something in mind for this, or not?”

Harry shrugged sheepishly, and _oh blimey that should not be endearing on a bloody twenty year old boy, who was really practically a man_. “You know how when we were just getting to know each other,” Harry started, dragging his words out and pulling Louis from his train of thoughts, because _oh right, he wasn’t alone_. “You know how we played truth or dare, I think on that first night that it was really just us as a group, the five lads. It was when we were fresh out of the X-Factor house?”

Louis nodded slowly, a smile edging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you suggesting we play truth or dare, Harry? Because I swear I am not stripping naked in the plane cabin for a dare.”

Harry laughed, the sound almost ripped out of him. “No, I was actually thinking more of truth or truth. Thought it could be beneficial to us.” He shrugged. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, you know.”

“No, it’s fine, I was just taking the piss.” He reached for Harry’s hand, just resting his hand gently over it. “So how do we do this?” he asked, and he knew that Harry would understand what it was exactly that he was asking, even if he himself wasn’t quite sure what that was.

Harry shrugged. “I figured it might be best if we started with a blank slate. We don’t assume anything or take anything for granted.” He extended his hand, the one that wasn’t under Louis’s. “So hi. I’m Harry Styles, and you are?”

Louis could see a kind of pleading in Harry’s eyes, and as he thought this over, he realised that Harry was right: so much could’ve changed in the past seven months – so much _had_ changed – that it would be almost unfair to assume that what they had known before was still accurate. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” He looked around them as he shook Harry’s hand.

“How old are you, Louis?”

Louis looked back at Harry. “I’m. I’m twenty-two.” He was going to stop there, but then he caught himself saying more. “I’m from Doncaster. I have a lot of siblings; five little sisters and one little brother. My mum’s name is Jay. I fall in love easily, but then I commit to it. I don’t deal well under pressure, or if I’m by myself. Especially if I’m under pressure _when_ I’m by myself.” He stopped then, his heart for some reason in his throat as his eyes wandered over Harry’s face.

Harry spoke up, his words heavy and slow. “I’m from Cheshire. I don’t have a lot of siblings, only an older sister named Gemma. My mum’s name is Anne. I’ve only ever been in love with one person in my entire life. I deal with pressure the best when I’m with you.” There had been pauses between each of his sentences, even between each of his words, and Louis vaguely wondered how Harry had managed to reply to every single one of Louis’s statements with one of his own. He figured it didn’t quite matter at the time being. So instead of asking, he nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

“Truth or truth?” Louis finally asked, even if it was simply to break the tension that had built up between them. He looked around them, noticing with surprise that no one else in the plane seemed to be nearly suffocating under the tension. Maybe it was just him then.

“Truth,” Harry answered, and okay, maybe Louis shouldn’t have needed to wait for that answer.

So now he only needed to figure out what he wanted to know. Of course, he had a vague idea, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to ask that.

He inhaled deeply before figuring that he might as well. “Have you really only been in love once?” he asked, the question tumbling off of his tongue.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. All the other times I fancied myself ‘in love,’” he put air-quotes around the term, “I realised later that it was just me being fond of the person. Now, even after months have passed, I’m still in love with you.” He paused. “Why did you start drinking your coffee black?” he asked, and Louis was fairly sure he looked pretty surprised. He hadn’t actually expected Harry to care about something as small as that.

“Seriously?” he asked. “That’s what you want to know?” At Harry’s pointed look, he sighed. “Fine, but like, I’m not exactly sure. I’m pretty sure it was a mix of things. Like there was the fact that I genuinely enjoyed the bitterness of it. When I couldn’t drink alcohol for whatever reason, the bitterness of coffee actually tended to help. I don’t know why. But.” Louis hesitated. He exhaled, trying to concentrate on the pressure of Harry’s hand against his own. “But there was also the fact that I somehow had come to associate you with every single part of my life, and I needed to break away from that. The way I chose to distance myself from all the mornings we spent lazing around with cups of coffee in our hands as we joked about nothing in particular was to change how I took my coffee. If it didn’t taste the same…well I just figured it was worth the shot.”

“And did it work?”

Louis smiled. “Yeah, it did. To a certain extent obviously.”

“So why didn’t you change how you take your tea?” Harry asked.

Louis leaned towards him, one hand coming up to pinch Harry’s middle. “It’s not your turn anymore, so I’m not answering that. Now. What could I possibly ask?” He wondered aloud, trying – and succeeding – to ignore how Harry was smirking besides him. He even stroked his chin wistfully for emphasis. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got it! When’s the last time you’ve gotten proper pissed?”

Harry hesitated. “It’s been a while, that’s for sure. Wasn’t while I was here. I suppose you haven’t seen the pictures, but the night before I came to LA, I ended up walking around for a few hours and I probably looked pissed, but I can’t seem to remember if I’d had anything or not.”

Louis took this all in, nodding along at the right places. “And if you didn’t have anything?”

“Then it was probably a week before that at the least.”

Louis stretched his legs out. “Good lad.”

Harry yawned, turning his body slightly towards Louis. “How did you keep the media – or anyone really – from finding you when you came down to LA at first?”

“I mean it wasn’t just me, I definitely had Zayn’s help. Big help. He was the only one who knew where I was actually. Mum had no idea where I was. I’m pretty sure it pissed her off pretty badly. I know that at first Management would’ve had my head if I’d shown up all of a sudden; Zayn said so in one of our first talks. But I don’t know how I did it. I kept waking up thinking I’d been found.” Louis felt Harry looking past him, so he turned around to see that the airhostess had come back.

“Are you two still okay?” They both nodded. “We’ll be landing in roughly five hours now, so you still have quite some time. Would you like anything to drink again?”

They both asked for water, Harry having learned his lesson the first time that he shouldn’t take tea again. The woman poured and handed them their cups of water before moving on to the next passengers.

Louis drank his water before returning his attention to Harry. He cleared his throat. “What’s your favourite colour?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer with a smile now plastered onto his face. Louis listened carefully as Harry offered him an answer, and although it wasn’t the most important question in the order of things, Louis still felt a heart clenching warmth when he realised that really, not that much could’ve changed if his favourite colours were still blue and orange.

They kept exchanging questions for the better part of the next two hours, the questions ranging from random facts like if Louis had ever found that shirt he thought he had left at his mum’s house (no, he hadn’t) to more serious questions regarding how they had each told their families that they had broken up.

Louis was now on his third cup of water, and maybe he should’ve waited until after Harry had asked him his question to have a sip, but these weren’t the kinds of things Louis tended to think about too much. “So, umm, I’m not quite sure how to ask this, so I’m just going to do it. Well, you know, like the expression: ripping off the Band-Aid, right? But, well. Have you tried dating anyone else since we’ve broken up?”

This resulted in Louis having to try very hard in order to keep from spitting out the water, which ended up with in him almost choking on it instead. When the coughing had subsided, Louis turned to look at Harry, eyes wide. “Jesus, Harry, warn a man before asking something like that, would’ya?”

Harry looked at Louis, his eyes comically wide. “If you don’t wanna answer, it’s fine. I get it. I was just wondering.”

“No, it’s – I just wasn’t expecting that. It’s alright.” Louis sat up straighter in his seat, his fingers clenching around the cup of water in his right hand. “But. Yeah. I did try to date other people. See if I might ever feel the same way I did with you, but with someone else.” He paused, finishing his water before putting the empty cup down. “It was mainly during the second month after our breakup. I was trying really hard to get you out of my mind. So I went on a few dates with a few people, but it never worked out.”

Harry sighed, and Louis blindly reached for his hand. “Was that it?”

Louis shook his head, almost reluctantly. “There were a handful of one-night-stands. During most of them I was blackout drunk, can’t quite remember them at all.” He shook his head once again, his eyes falling shut in a semi-pained expression. “Sorry. And there was this one time when Stan tried to set me up – was it two or three months ago? – with his mum’s friend’s son. Didn’t work out at all. Don’t actually remember it, either. I think that that might however be because I decided it wasn’t worth it and left after fifteen minutes, but I figure we can just keep that to ourselves, don’t you?”

Harry reached for Louis’s hand, pulling it into his lap. He turned it over so Louis’s palm was to the sky, and Harry started absent-mindedly tracing the lines he found there. “It’s fine. I mean obviously it’s not going to be my favourite thing to think about, but I’m still glad that you tried to get over me. I wouldn’t like to think that you just accepted to be sad and all.” He smiled shyly at Louis, and Louis couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful. “That wouldn’t the Louis I know and love.”

And it really wasn’t Louis’s fault how he blushed. “So, should I ask you the same question then?” he wondered aloud, and it was really just a piss poor attempt at directing the attention off from himself. No matter, it still seemed to work as Harry shrugged.

“Your choice mate.” Louis considered it briefly before nodding slowly. “So, no, I didn’t really try dating anyone. Don’t quite thing I was ready to really think about it. Don’t know if I ever would’ve really been ready to, to be quite honest. But I did have two one-night-stands, and after the both of them, I felt so utterly disgusted with myself that I couldn’t even bring myself to think about doing it ever again.”

“When was this?” Louis asked softly through the subtle clenching in his stomach. Most of him understood why Harry had done it, though.

“Like, within the first month of breaking up, I reckon. I was just so mad at myself, I got proper drunk and when I still couldn’t forget what I’d done, I picked a guy up and tried to pretend that it was you.” He chuckled sadly, and _that_ made Louis’s heart hurt. “Didn’t work at all. Felt even worse in the morning, especially ‘cause I ended up throwing up the contents of my stomach on both occasions. It was just a bloody mess. It wasn’t worth it at all, and I’m sorry.”

Louis nodded. “I mean, I’m not gonna pretend that I’m happy that happened, but it would be sort of hypocritical of me to be mad or something because you’ve not been celibate during the entirety of our breakup when I’ve been with people too. Plus, like, I’m not saying that you cheating is ‘forgive and forget,’ far from it, but I did some rather crappy stuff too, so I get that you’d also try to deal with it.” He sighed. “God, we really are awful at dealing with our shit, aren’t we?”

Harry laughed, interlacing their fingers and giving a soft squeeze to Louis’s hand. He didn’t say anything for a while, letting it all hang between them. He gently pulled on Louis’s arm until Louis gave in and fell into Harry’s chest. Louis nuzzled his nose into Harry’s shirt, his free hand resting somewhere along Harry’s ribs.

“Is there anything you wanna know?” Louis asked, his voice somewhat muffled in the cloth of Harry’s shirt.

Harry hummed an answer, the fingers from the hand that wasn’t holding onto Louis’s fiddling with the tips of Louis’s hair.

“Was that a yes or a no?” Louis asked.

“That was a yes.”

Louis waited, but nothing came. He pushed up a bit from Harry’s body, looking up at him. “Are you gonna go or can I have a go instead?” Harry just shrugged, which wasn’t quite the answer Louis was expecting. He slowly sat up next to Harry, who only whined in discontempt while trying to pull on Louis’s hand to keep him close. “Are you okay?” Louis asked, worry starting to tint his words. He vaguely noticed that it was dark outside the plane and that most of its occupants were now asleep.

Harry nodded, trying to pull Louis towards him once again. “I just can’t ask if I’m looking at you.”

Louis let himself fall into Harry’s frame. “You weren’t looking at me before,” he still argued, and well, _he had a point_. Louis knew he did. Harry still didn’t answer. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, just for good measure.

“Yeah, just gimme a minute.” He seemed to consider something before adding, “You can ask something if you want, I just need a bit of time before I’ll be able to ask this one.”

Louis toyed at the fabric of Harry’s shirt – it was soft. “Okay, well, umm.” He paused, trying to think of a question. It took him almost two minutes, but eventually, he found one. “Do you still have that bedtime playlist you used to have for when I couldn’t fall asleep? You know, the one you made I think when we were in Germany?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I know the one. But no, I don’t have it on my phone anymore. It’s still on my laptop, though!”

Louis giggled, and if anyone asked, he’d blame it on the fact that he was on a plane. Flying tended to make him sleepy, and he had this habit of giggling a lot more whenever he was sleepy. “What about the creativity one? I saw that once and I’m pretty sure that when I asked, you said it made you feel creative. D’you know which one I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I still have it on my phone. I reckon I changed the name though; think it’s like ‘Thinky Space’ now or something. I might’ve changed a few of the songs too, but I think that it’s mostly still the same.”

Louis pulled back a bit, just enough to be able to see Harry’s face. “Are you serious?” he laughed. “‘Thinky Space?’ That has got to be the worst name I’ve ever heard.”

Harry laughed too, but Louis could feel him tensing up slightly under his hands. “Yeah,” he said, the word dragging out into the next few seconds. Louis chose not to speak up, figuring that Harry was probably getting ready to ask whatever it was that had him so nervous. As it turned out, he was right, because after half a dozen minutes of Harry kneading through Louis’s hair to the point that Louis was almost falling asleep, Harry spoke up. “So, I guess I’m never really gonna be totally ready to ask, so here it goes. You know how during the month or so that led up to our breakup, we never had sex?” Louis shuffled around. “And whenever I would try to initiate anything, you would just pull away or something?” Harry inhaled deeply, letting it out with his next few words. “I just need to know. Was it because of the stupid plan you had? Or did I just not turn you on anymore?”

Louis sat up straight, alarmed. “No,” he rushed to say. “No no no no no. That wasn’t it at all, I’m so sorry if you ever thought that was it. It was because of my plan, and I was so stupid to even think such a plan up. I am so utterly sorry, Harry. You need to know; you’ve always turned me on, and you most likely always will.”

Harry exhaled sharply, reaching out to pull Louis back towards him. “Thank God.” He hugged Louis tightly to his chest, and for once, Louis let himself go easily and completely. “I just – I just needed to hear you say that. So thank you.”

Louis nodded against Harry’s chest. “Of course, but could you just promise me something?”

“Yeah, anything, Lou.”

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Louis didn’t resent the nickname. He didn’t see it as a bitter reminder of what could’ve been, but more as a glimpse into what might eventually be. Maybe.

Louis took a deep breath. “Promise you won’t give up on me. Please.” His voice was small, a whisper amidst all the sleeping passengers around them.

Now it was Harry’s turn to nod. “Yes, of course. You haven’t gotten rid of me yet; don’t start thinking that’s about to change.” And although Harry was mostly joking, Louis could tell that he still meant every single word he was saying.

***

It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Louis that he’d fallen asleep sometime after this. But that still didn’t keep him from being completely disoriented when a flight attendant – not the same one he’d seen during all the flight – came over to wake both Harry and him. Louis had thanked her and said he would take care of waking Harry, and the woman had left with a smile.

Louis pushed himself up slightly, giving Harry a gentle shove. “Hazza, wake up.” Harry grumbled, but other than that he didn’t move. Louis pushed him again, slightly harder this time. “Seriously. The plane’s landed. It’s time to get up.”

At least this time, Louis got a faintly more satisfying answer. “Don’t wanna. Come back.” Harry made grabby hands in Louis’s general direction. Louis only let out a frustrated sigh.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harry, get your bloody arse up, I’m not carrying you out.”

This made Harry crack an eye open as he started to stretch. “You were more fun when you were sleeping.”

Louis reached under the seat in front of his, pulling his bag out. “Yeah? Well you were more fun when you were sixteen and listened to everything I said,” he said mockingly.

Harry grabbed his things and followed Louis out from the plane and into the airport. They navigated their way through the mob of people waiting for their luggage. Louis caught a few people pointing cameras at them, but all in all it was only a handful of people. No one had knew they’d be coming back, save for the boys, so there were no paparazzi in sight, and for that Louis was grateful.

They made their way to the front entrance, and that’s when it hit Louis. He stopped moving, suddenly realising with a certain clarity that he didn’t know where they were going. He didn’t want to go back to his apartment, but he wouldn’t be able to go back to the house he and Harry had shared for the longest of times. Harry stopped next to Louis, his hand wrapped around Louis’s forearm – he must have reached for him to keep from losing him in the throng of people.

“You okay, Lou?” he asked.

Louis thought it over. It wasn’t like he could talk about this in public; the risk of being overheard was too big. So he nodded, making his way to one of the taxis parked nearby. He sparred a few words to the driver, who opened the trunk for them to put their luggage in.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Harry asked, taking Louis’s luggage from him and placing it in the trunk next to his. “I mean people are going to see us getting into the car together and all.”

Louis shrugged. “They’ve seen us getting off the aeroplane; I’m fairly sure they’ve got pictures to back it up too.” He tapped Harry’s wrist gently. “So come on now, in you go.” He flashed him a smile before turning around, going to sit behind the driver. Harry made his way to the opposite side, waving at a few fans who had recognised him, before sliding into the cab; he barely had time to hear Louis tell the man in the front to drive around, not actually giving him any address, until Louis told him elsewise.

Harry sat back, sighing out. He waited until they were far away enough that they couldn’t see the airport anymore. Then, he turned his head to Louis, taking in the way he was sitting with his head in his hands. Suddenly, all the progress they had made in the past few weeks seemed meaningless; Harry had no idea what to do, what to say, how to break this silence. It took him a few minutes of fish-mouthing to find his words. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come, and then –

“So what now?” Louis’s voice broke the silence, and Harry felt his entire body relax in relief.

Harry offered him a small smile. “I have no idea.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the passenger seat in front of him. “All I know is that the lads would probably have our heads if we didn’t drop by theirs right away.”

Louis snorted. “Yeah, well if you really wanted to get technical, Modest! probably already has a price on our heads; beat them to it, you know? But you know that’s not what I was asking about.”

The driver took a sharp left turn at the same time as Harry sat back and threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Well Lou, do you have any ideas? Because I’m at a loss here. I said that you could move back into our home and you said –”

“I said _no_ and that answer is not gonna bloody change!” Louis took a deep breath. “Look. I’m not going back in that house. I don’t give a rat’s arse if you want to keep it. But that’s just it, innit? It’s going to be your call, always has, always will be. Because I’m never going to move back into there.”

Harry leaned forward, turning his gaze to the window. “So what do you suggest?” he asked quietly.

Louis laughed. “Well, you can either choose to stay there, or we can try to start fresh. As friends.”

“Wouldn’t that just be bloody wonderful?” Harry locked eyes with the driver in the rear-view mirror. He turned to Louis, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to choose on my own, Louis.” Louis looked away, but Harry grabbed his wrist, trying to get him to look at him. “Louis, these past few weeks have been incredible. I’ve gotten to see you more often that I had in the last few months combined. And we got to talk things out.” Harry sighed, tightening his grip on Louis’s wrist. “ _Louis, look at me_.” Louis reluctantly turned, his eyes meeting Harry’s. “We agreed we’d try to work on this. But for us to actually work on this, it can’t just be me.”

Harry saw the exact moment Louis’s eyes filled with anger. “Don’t you dare say I haven’t tried. Don’t you –”

Harry let go of his wrist, putting his hands up. He felt the cab speeding up. “I’m so sorry, that’s absolutely not what I meant,” he said calmly. “I really should’ve worded that better.” He kept his eyes locked on Louis, taking in his body language, which all went to say that Louis was acting on the defensive. Louis was scared.

“Then what did you mean?” he whispered.

Harry swallowed. “We agreed that we needed to communicate better. That’s never going to happen if I’m the one calling all the shots. I want to make the decisions _with_ you, not _for_ you.” He could see the way Louis rolled his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I just want you to be honest with me. I want you to tell me what you want and what you don’t want. I’m not asking you to fetch the bloody moon for me; I don’t think that this is impossible.” He let out a shaky breath. “I just want us to be able to make decisions together. I want you to be able to give me your honest opinion.”

Harry rubbed at his own shoulder, taking a number of deep, steadying breaths to try and calm himself down. Now it was Louis’s turn.

Louis scratched at his forearm, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m sorry,” he softly said, and Harry hadn’t really noticed how long it had been since either of them had spoken. “I guess I’m just kind of on edge. Harry, we’ve been away for around a month, without any outside contact. I’m scared of what’s going to happen, in all honesty.”

Harry nodded. He could work with that. “I’m scared too, you know? But right now, we need to think of a plan, because if we don’t, then we both know we’ve got no chance of ever being together again. We might also have a pretty hefty taxi tab, although that’s not all that important.” Louis laughed, bowing his head, and Harry reached for his hand, cradling it between his two. “So what do you want?”

Louis looked up from under his eyelashes, meeting Harry’s gaze. “I liked these past few weeks, but I don’t think I’d be able to be around you that often for now. Not all the time.”

“What do you suggest?” Harry asked around the knot in his throat.

Louis audibly swallowed. “Maybe tonight we could go to a hotel, or one of the lads’ places.”

“And what then? Tomorrow. The day after.”

The car stopped abruptly, waiting a few seconds before taking a right turn. The driver called over his shoulder that they were up fifty dollars, but Louis ignored him. “Well I think we’ll need to explain a couple of things to the boys, definitely. But. I was thinking that maybe.” Louis cut himself off. Harry traced the inside of Louis’s palm with his thumb to urge him on. “Maybe we could rent a flat, where we could live together on most days; but as friends. We’d each have our separate rooms, but we’d still be getting to spend time together; try to get to know each other again. I’d keep my current flat, though, and you could keep the house, or get another flat, you choose.” Louis was speaking quickly, trying to get it all out before he lost his resolve to do so. His eyes fluttered close. “That way, if we ever need to get away, we wouldn’t feel trapped. We’d both have somewhere to go, somewhere _safe_. And we wouldn’t worry as much about where the other went off to.”

Harry nodded, taking it all in. “I think that could work.” He felt Louis give a gentle squeeze to his hand, and he smiled. “We’d have to go flat hunting, find something that works for us.”

Louis nodded along. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He swallowed. “I was thinking actually. Well, maybe not London? Obviously we’d have to be close-by, but I was thinking maybe something quieter, where we wouldn’t have to be all too careful about our comings and goings around the flat. Not as much, at least.”

Harry’s smile grew larger, more genuine. “That sounds brilliant.”

“Yeah, and maybe the lads could help us out, give us their advice. Like, they’ve been around each of us a lot more in the past few months than either of us has with the other. And they’d probably be able to warn us, like if there’s anything they think might not be good for us.” Harry was nodding along to Louis’s words; Louis seemed to have really put some thought into this.

“That all sounds really good; I think this could actually work. I’d probably look into getting a flat of my own, but I’m not quite ready to put our house back on the market yet.”

Louis sighed out, letting himself sink back into the worn out leather seat, a relieved smile gracing his features. For once, the space between himself and Harry didn’t seem like something bad, or good, actually. He felt neutral to it, and although it might seem counter-productive to try and break this ease of mind, he gave a soft pull on Harry’s arm, trying to bring him into himself.

Harry unbuckled his seatbelt, shifting over to the middle seat. He didn’t say anything as Louis shuffled over to lay his head on Harry’s chest; he simply brought a hand up to comb through Louis’s hair.

“Where do you wanna go now, love?” Harry asked him quietly.

Louis hummed. “Doesn’t really matter. Figure we might as well get some sleep tonight, talk to the boys when it’s morning again. Planes don’t really make for the best of sleeps. Do you think the boys would mind?”

Harry laughed. “Well, I’m sure they’d much rather see us tonight, but I don’t really care at this point. D’you want to go to a hotel?”

Louis nodded.

Harry spoke up louder, telling the driver to find them a hotel; that they’d be fine with whichever one was closest. He then finally let himself sink back into the seat, closing his eyes, the weight of Louis’s head on top of him feeling like the perfect mixture of wonderful and lightness.

He was about to fall asleep when a thought came to him. “Lou?” he asked, not even quite sure that Louis wasn’t already asleep. However, the humming that vibrated through to Harry was answer enough. Harry cleared his throat. “Back on the plane, when we’d just landed, you woke me up.”

The answer of “what’s it to you?” made him want to laugh.

“Not much, really, I was just wondering if it meant anything, that you called me ‘Hazza.’ If I’m being honest, I hadn’t really expected you to ever call me that again; I mean, you hadn’t, not since a while before our breakup, I think.”

Louis grumbled. “Go to sleep, you big arse. You’ve got _me_ in your arms, so why the hell are you thinking about a bloody nickname?”

Harry smiled, pulling Louis in closer. “Why can’t I think about both you and the nickname?” He sighed. “I love you, so don’t be too much of a dick when we have to eventually get out of this car, and I have to deal with waking you up.”

Louis snorted, his face hidden entirely against Harry’s chest. “You love me; that’s exactly _why_ I have to be a dick. No one else would tolerate it.”

Harry laughed. Such a beautiful sound, that only himself, Louis, a taxi driver and the crickets hiding away in the grass alongside a country road on the outskirts of London got to hear that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has been the longest yet, and I hope this in some way makes up for the very long amount of time it took me to get it out.
> 
> Let me know what you think, and to, hopefully, very soon,
> 
> Ju xx


	28. XXVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!!!
> 
> Here's what happened last time on FIARB: 
> 
> After breaking up, Harry and Louis both needed their time to think. Louis was finally ready, so he invited Harry to LA with him, where he'd been hiding. They spend a month there, over which they talk many things through, finally getting down to the details of what lead to the breakup. 
> 
> Now, they're back in LA, and the pressure is getting to them; they don't know where to go, what to do or what to expect. They had a brief fight in a cab, which ended with the two boys being brought to a hotel in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is another chapter with another apology. Sorry! But I hope that a chapter full of bonding time kind of makes up for it? Maybe? Anyways, see you soon!!!

The man behind the counter rapped his fingers three times against the mahogany of his desk, looking at Harry over the rim of his glasses. He had not yet looked at Louis.

He seemed to be around their age, possibly a year or two younger than Harry. The important thing was that he hadn’t seemed to recognise them. He looked up at them, finally seeming to be ready to take care of them.

He sighed, chewing on his gum. “How may I help you?” he asked, and if he had found a way to manage to seem even less disinterested, Louis would’ve been horribly surprised. The man – or maybe boy would be more appropriate – looked down at his computer screen again, reading over it once.

Harry nudged Louis, signaling that he should talk. “We’d like two rooms on the same floor, please. If possible, we’d like them to be next to one another.” He stared the guy behind the counter down, daring him to look at him. Instead, he kept looking at Harry.

“What size beds?”

Harry looked between the man and Louis, his eyebrows furrowed. The clerk bit his lip, starting to look more and more annoyed that Harry wasn’t answering him. Finally, Harry sighed, leaning against the desk towards the man. “Look,” he started. “What’s your name?”

“Jim.”

Harry smiled, and Louis almost snorted, knowing exactly what was in store for _Jim_. “Hi Jim. I’m Harry, and it’s wonderful to meet you, really, it is.” He twirled his finger against the desktop. “But the thing is, I’m not the one you’re talking to. So stop looking at me for answers, and look at my friend here, Louis, instead.”

The clerk stared Harry down, finally sighing and turning to Louis. He gave him a – still – disinterested once over, before reiterating: “What size beds?”

“One queen in each room.”

Harry and he had gone over this before walking over to the desk to check in. Louis had told Harry that he wouldn’t mind sharing a room, probably, so long as they had their separate beds. And although this had made Harry’s insides warm with pleasure at the _progress_ , he’d had to make Louis realise that they’d already been seen coming in together after a month of being gone from the surface of the Earth. It would only be a matter of time before people found the hotel where they’d stayed, and before they managed to pay to learn what their rooms were. If it were to happen that said rooms were actually _one room_ , well it wouldn’t matter how many beds there were. Harry and Louis were fed up, but not to the point of actually doing that; Modest! would have their heads, and rightfully so. There’s being careless, but then there’s _being careless_.

Jim nodded, turning towards his computer. He typed up a few things, before turning to Louis. “Name?”

Louis looked to Harry, who already had his eyes trailed on Louis, silently asking each other the same question: _do we lie?_ Louis let his hand reach for Harry’s hip, leaning in towards him until his lips were at his ear.

“I want to start fresh. They’re gonna find us anyways. Why lie?”

He pulled away, meeting Harry’s eyes once again. “Yeah, okay.”

Louis took a step away from Harry, finally turning his attention back towards the man behind the desk. “Put it under Tomlinson.”

There was more typing, during which Louis pulled out his wallet, taking the card in the first slit.

“Should I book you in for more than one night, or would you rather go night by night?”

Louis looked around. The lobby was very minimalistic and small. There was a grandfather’s clock standing tall against the back wall of it, between two elevators. The entire floor was covered in a deep red carpet, which Louis couldn’t help but wonder how they managed to keep so red. There was a brick fireplace across from the desk, three small sofa chairs arranged around it, all varying shades of brown. Near the elevators was a hallway that Louis supposed lead to a number of rooms.

Louis shook his head. “Just one night.”

The clerk, Jim, looked at Louis above his glasses. “You do realise that that means you’ll be expected to be checked out by ten tomorrow morning, right?” Something about his tone irked Louis the wrong way.

“Then book for two days, I don’t care.”

The man nodded, pulling a drawer by his right open. He shuffled through it, finally pulling two red cards out. He swiped them into the side of the computer screen in front of him, typing out a dozen keys after each card. Eventually, he looked back up, a smile _finally_ on his lips. “Two neighbour rooms with one queen sized bed in each, for two nights, under the name of Tomlinson. That’ll be a total of $356. Would you like to pay debit or credit?”

“Credit,” Louis answered, finally handing over the credit card he’d been holding in his hands.

The clerk smiled, entering a code into his computer and taking care of the payment. He kept his head down, not meeting either of the gazes in front of him. “I see that money was not an issue for the two of you. Otherwise you’d have taken only one room, right?” He tacked on a laugh at the end of his sentence, possibly to try and divert the attention from his nosiness.

Louis leaned back, feeling Harry’s hand on his waist, his fingers dipping ever-so-slightly beneath Louis’s jumper. Louis decided to shrug it off, not being able to pinpoint to when this had happened. Instead, he concentrated on Jim, in front of him, making sure to keep his face a blank slate. “No, money is definitely not an issue, but thank you for your concern.” Louis took back his credit card, Harry taking care of the hotel room cards.

The man cleared his throat. “Sorry. Um, anyway, you’ve got rooms 302 and 304. Enjoy your stay.”

Louis nodded at him, pulling Harry along with him towards the elevators. He reached for Harry’s wrist, wrapping his fingers gently around it. He called for the lift, waiting for the doors to open before stepping in. Only then did he let go of Harry’s wrist. Harry slightly frowned, wrapping his long fingers around the now cold spot of skin.

“What time should we meet up tomorrow, to discuss everything that needs to be done?” Louis asked, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, either in preparation for the next coming days, or for the last few ones he’d had. Nothing felt very relaxing as of late.

Harry seemed to think it over, before settling on saying “Would eight-ish be okay? That way we have enough time to talk everything out, pack our bags, and still make it to one of the boy’s place before Modest! calls?”

Louis nodded. “Seems good.”

They said their goodnights, and the next thing Louis knew was that he was in his hotel room, feeling much too trapped after having been as free as he could possibly be for a month. Tomorrow, he’d reappear in the news, alongside Harry. Tomorrow, he would start being Louis Tomlinson again, instead of being just Louis, as he had this past month. Tomorrow, he would come out of the shadows he’d been hiding in.

God. He felt so fucked. He hadn’t even opened his phone yet.

He could feel his body tensing up at the mere idea of what might happen tomorrow. He let his eyes fall shut, trying to coerce his body into relaxing, but it didn’t work. He could feel himself struggling to breathe, his throat constricting and closing in on itself in a way he hadn’t experienced in a number of years; the last time he could remember this happening was during the XFactor.

He felt as though the walls were closing in on him. He felt chocked and constrained.

It was like someone was holding on to him, just loosely enough to allow him to still move on his own, but still making it so that they had complete control over where he would go. He could still twist around, but he was stuck on this path that might bring him to some place he had no desire exploring. He was being tricked into believing he had some king of control. But really, he had no control over where he was headed, having to blindly trust someone he didn’t know, and perhaps _that_ was what was trapping him.

He tried to breathe. It didn’t work.

He had to blindly trust that management had his best interests at heart – which they often didn’t. He had to trust that his public relations team would do what would be best for _him_ , and not for his or their money – which he didn’t believe was the case. He had to trust that the fans would keep him on top. He had to believe that he wouldn’t ever feel betrayed by the other four boys – which Harry had already managed to do. He basically had to fully give himself over to everyone, give himself away and trust that the people who had parts of him wouldn’t burn him to the ground and destroy him past the point of no return. He had to believe that no matter what happened to him, he would be able to fix himself again.

He wasn’t sure if he could allow himself to do that to himself; to take the risk of getting hurt all over again.

He walked to the bathroom, turning on the tap and waiting for the water to turn cold. Once it was sufficiently cold – enough so to turn the tips of his fingers a slight red and make them tingle – he splashed a few handfuls onto his face. It took a few minutes, but after chilling his face enough, he started to feel the stress almost melting off of him in layers. It wasn’t enough to get his body to relax, but it was enough to help him breathe more easily.

He undressed, trying to keep his mind as blank as possible. He left only his boxers on.

He stepped into the large shower turning the water on and keeping it cold. He let it stream down his body, making his muscles ache in a nearly pleasant way. He sat down on the floor of the shower, wrapping his arms around his folded up legs. He rested his chin on his knees. Breathing in deeply, letting his ribcage expand and push against his legs. He let himself be rocked by the rhythm of his own breathing, finding the movement calming, perhaps simply by its being constant.

He stayed there for a long time, until the ends of his toes had turned an odd mix of bluish purple and the pads of his fingers had wrinkled up.

When he got to the point where he felt the need to move a bit, he leaned on the side of the tub and pushed himself up, stepping out and onto the floor of the bathroom. He turned the shower off, and reached for a towel, quickly drying himself out before he left the bathroom. He walked out into the bedroom part of the hotel room, locating his bag and starting to sift through it. He could feel his nerves making him feel like his skin was crawling, and although the cold shower had helped, it hadn’t been nearly close to making him feel safe again.

He finally found what he was looking for – a pack of nearly full cigarettes and a lighter. He made his way to the balcony, his boxers clinging to his skin and dripping down onto the carpet.

Louis looked to his feet. There was an odd burnt orange stain near his left big toe. He moved his foot over a bit until he was stepping on it, hiding it under his toes.

Maybe that’s what he should do; hide the parts of reality he didn’t like. He could pretend that everything that bothered him didn’t exist anymore.

He reached the balcony door, pulling it open and stepping out into the fresh air, the wind sticking to his damp skin.

He leaned on the railing, pulling a cigarette out of the pack and putting it between his teeth. In the distance, Louis could hear a car driving, its wheels dragging along the asphalt of the road. He brought the lighter to the cigarette, cupping his free hand around the end of it. He put the lighter down on a table that had been conveniently placed by the door.

He wrapped his hand around the railing, the metal a slightly cooler temperature than his skin. He breathed in, trying to hold the smoke in, but ended up coughing instead. Louis laughed dryly; it had been a while since his last cigarette. He hadn’t been reaching so much for them when he was in Los Angeles.

Out of the silence of the night, a voice spoke up from close to Louis. “Lou?”

Louis leaned forward, bending his body until he could see the balcony from the room next to his. He could make out a dark figure, and recognised Harry’s build from it. “Harry?”

There was a small laugh, sounding almost like it had escaped Harry by accident. “Yeah.” There was a pause, the two of them letting the silence take over once again. Louis took a drag from the cigarette, this time managing to keep the smoke in for a while before breaking off into a short coughing fit. He turned around, leaning his back against the rail. “Couldn’t sleep?” Harry asked, grabbing Louis’s attention once again.

Louis hummed. “Didn’t try.” He took another drag of the cigarette. “I know I wouldn’t have been able to.”

Harry hummed his agreement from his place on his balcony, sounding like he could understand Louis. He probably could; this – whatever Modest! did – would also affect him.

Louis looked off into the distance, spotting some animal that was crossing an empty street a few blocks away.

A gust of wind hit Louis, making him shiver. “Are you smoking?” Harry asked, and Louis was surprised to notice that there was no judgment in his voice.

“Yeah,” he answered.

Louis didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d answered, but it definitely wasn’t a hand appearing on the side of his balcony. “Pass it over?”

Louis took a drag of it, his brows furrowing. “It’s not a spliff, Harry, just a cigarette.” Louis blew the smoke out, the grey of it clashing with the dark night sky.

“I know.” Harry’s fingers extended, almost reaching for the cigarette he couldn’t see. “I can smell that it’s a cig, now pass it.”

Louis took one last drag before pulling it from between his teeth and handing it over to Harry. Harry’s hand disappeared, and a few seconds later, coughing started lightly from Harry’s side. It took a few short seconds for it to subside, and then a cloud of smoke replaced it. Harry passed the cigarette back to Louis, who grabbed it back.

“Since when do you smoke?” Louis asked between two breaths. The stick was almost to its end now. A few more drags and Louis would have to light a new one.

“I don’t, not really; there have only been a few off times here and there. But it’s calming – at least to me it is – and I think I need to calm down.” Louis nodded. He knew the feeling.

“Nervous?”

This time, Harry laughed loudly, and Louis handed him the cigarette back. “Fucking terrified.”

“Me too.” Harry passed the cigarette back, and Louis took one short drag of it before stubbing it out on the metal of the railing. He reached for the pack of cigarettes, pulling a new one out and lighting it. “I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like. Haven’t even turned my phone on yet.”

Harry’s hand reached over the railing once again, and Louis placed the new cigarette in it. “Me neither.”

“D’you reckon we should maybe turn them on?”

Harry hummed out a yes, and there was silence for a few seconds before he continued. “Maybe we should do it together. Mental support and all that.”

Louis tapped his fingers against the rail, creating an uneven beat. “Doesn’t mean I’m not still scared shitless.” A cloud of smoke came from Harry’s side, surrounding Louis, and it was almost comforting; it was like a cloudy blanket, warming him up.

The cloud of smoke dissipated, and was replaced by Harry’s hand, poking in above the concrete wall to hand the cigarette back to Louis.

“I’m going to run inside to go fetch my phone, I’ll be back in a few seconds, ‘kay?”

Louis nodded, then realised that Harry couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he said, exhaling smoke.

He heard Harry shuffling around on his deck, possibly tripping on his way to the door if the muted ‘bang’ Louis heard was anything to go by. He heard a door being pulled open, and when it slammed shut, Louis was left in the silence of the dark night.

The moon was hidden behind a dense-looking cloud, the stars shining dimly. The wind was cold and pinching, and it had made Louis’s boxer briefs dry off to a cold material. He could hear a lone bird chirping in the distance.

Louis puffed on his cigarette, coughing the smoke out dryly.

The door to Harry’s patio opened, Harry’s heavy steps getting closer to Louis. His hand appeared next to Louis, who gave him the cigarette silently. Harry kept it for several minutes before giving it back to Louis.

“I thought you couldn’t smoke,” Louis said between two clouds of smoke. “Thought it was bad for your asthma.”

Harry hummed; Louis wasn’t sure what this was supposed to mean. “Yeah, but it’s mostly dangerous if you’re a long time smoker. It’s bearable if it’s only once in a while, is what I’ve been told.” Louis could picture Harry shrugging at the end of his sentence.

“When did you smoke before?” Louis asked, genuinely curious.

“Few times with Zayn. Once or twice when I was getting drunk. It was really more of a social thing, happened very rarely. Discovered that it can be really calming; it kind of forces you to focus on your breathing.”

Louis nodded. It was pretty much the same thing for him, so he could easily relate.

He gave the cigarette back to Harry, trying to shrug off the cold that was starting to envelop him. “I’m gonna go get my phone I guess,” he said, not waiting for Harry’s answer before making his way inside.

He walked over to his bag, digging through it. He sifted through the many loose objects that had been hastily thrown in it. Maybe he should’ve organised his stuff a bit better when packing this bag. Oh well.

He pulled a sweatshirt out, figuring that he might as well put it on.

He pulled it over his head, poking his arms through the sleeves, surprised when he heard a soft thud from the floor by his toes. He popped his head out of the piece of clothing, realising that the sound had been made by his phone hitting the floor carpet. He picked it up and stood up, pleasantly surprised when he realised that the hoodie reached well past his mid-thigh. It felt warm and comfy.

He stepped back outside, rejoining Harry in the cold outdoors’ wind.

“Hey,” Louis whispered. It was so quiet, the bird no longer chirping in the distance; Louis didn’t want to break the calm that he felt surrounded him.

“Hi.” Louis could hear Harry breathing in and out, a soft and subtle sound amidst the quiet of the night. “D’you still want the smoke, or can I throw it away? I think I’m done now.”

Louis shrugged. “I reckon you can throw it away. Think I’ve already surpassed my daily nicotine quota,” Louis said with a small chuckle.

There were a few seconds of silence during which Louis imagined Harry was crushing the cigarette to a bud. “Already starting to get addicted?” Harry pried gently.

Louis shook his head from side to side. “It was a joke, Haz.” And there it was again: the nickname. He’d apparently let it slip when Harry had woken him up in the aeroplane, and now again, it had rolled off his tongue naturally.

He could almost _hear_ Harry’s joy at being called by his nickname, by _Louis_ of all people. Harry still mumbled something which sounded a lot like “it wasn’t a very good one” to Louis, but the latter chose not to comment on it.

A pregnant pause.

“So,” Harry spoke, letting the syllable drag out and trying to break the pause. “Should we turn our phones on?”

“On the count of three?” Louis asked. Harry hummed his approval. “One?”

“Two,” Harry completed.

“Three,” Louis finished in a breath, dread filling his voice.

And then there was nothing. Complete and utter silence surrounded the two boys. It was overwhelming and suffocating.

And as suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared. It was replaced by a chorus of ringtones and beeps and notifications, a chaotic mix of everything Louis and Harry had been avoiding throughout the past four weeks. Louis’s phone was a constant vibration in his hand, threatening and scaring, and Louis wanted nothing more than to throw his phone over the balcony’s railing. He saw names popping up on his screen – his mother, his sisters, various members of Harry’s family, management, each of the boys, and a series of unknown numbers. Louis felt these names like a something pressing against his oesophagus, chocking him with their letters. He had voicemails and emails and missed calls and text messages and Facebook notifications and _all he could think of was how badly he wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear from the public eye_.

He stared at his phone as it finally stopped beeping and buzzing, and took a deep breath.

He could still hear Harry’s phone buzzing softly.

He kept his eyes on the home screen of his phone, terrified of even unlocking it. And that’s when a name stood out to him.

_Harry Styles_.

Harry had messaged him.

That was all it took for him to hastily unlock his phone, pulling the texting app up.

Harry had texted him several times actually.

Louis clicked on Harry’s name, letting the conversation load.

He scrolled through the conversation, getting to the last message he’d sent, and then starting to read from there. The first message was from two days after he’d left for Los Angeles. He started reading through the messages.

_Harry Styles (17/05/14 – 7:18pm): Are you ok?_

_Harry Styles (18/05/14 – 11:26am): I need to know that ur OK._

_Harry Styles (18/05/14 – 11:29am): Are u at least safe?_

_Harry Styles (18/05/14 – 4:54pm): I just wanna know that nothing bad happened to you._

_Harry Styles (21/05/14 – 12:03am): The boys wont tell me where u are._

_Harry Styles (22/05/14 – 3:45am): I think they know where you are._

_Harry Styles (22/05/14 – 5:01am): I misss u._

_Harry Styles (22/05/14 – 7:43pm): please come back_

_Harry Styles (24/05/14 – 3:56am): Z gave me the plane ticket_

_Harry Styles (24/05/14 – 5:11am): Im sitting in the plane_

_Harry Styles (24/05/14 – 5:12am): see u soon_

Louis sat down on the patio floor, the cold wind having finally been replaced by a warm blanket of breeze, slipping under his hoodie and hugging him tight. Maybe it would finally start feeling somewhat like summer soon.

“You texted me,” he whispered, not sure if Harry could actually hear him. Harry had texted him, Harry had tried to care for him even from nearly 9,000 kilometres away. Harry had tried.

His phone beeped one last time, and this time, Louis’s heart really did jump out of his chest. And he didn’t know why, he didn’t know what made his heart do that, because it wasn’t like Harry had not said this these past few months. But his heart _did_ beat out of his chest, and Louis _was_ happy.

Louis was happy.

_Harry Styles (28/06/14 – 4:31am): I still love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief note: this does not mean that everything is resolved. Thank you!
> 
> Julianne xxxx


	29. XXVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time on FIARB (I feel so much like a TV series when I do this)
> 
> After spending a month together, Louis and Harry have worked out most of the issues that led to their breakup. Feeling ready to face the world again, they embark on a plane back to London, where they spend a good deal of the flight getting to know each other. When they've landed in London, they take a cab to a hotel, where they both realise how unready they actually are to do all of this. They decide that they might as well face it all together, so they open their phones for the first time in a month. It's already so very overwhelming to Louis, and add to that the fact that Harry's texted him several times, the last one being sent this same day, a simple declaration of love, and, well... Louis's going to need to take a long moment to take it all in.
> 
>  
> 
> (Sorry I know this was a shit summary of what's been happening but...oh well, here's the chapter.)

Louis would’ve never imagined silence to have such meaning between two people.

Between him and Harry, it could mean universes. It could mean that they were contended, that they were happy with what they had, that what they wanted _was_ what they had. Those kinds of silences had always been the most pleasant to Louis; they used to happen after breakfast, when Louis was sitting thinking about the life he and Harry had built for each other. Of course, these silences mainly used to happen before the breakup – even a bit before that – but they were always the best ones in Louis’s memory.

But then there were the other kinds of silences, the ones that would draw out for two long between two sips of bitter coffee in the mid-afternoon. They would come about when suddenly, Louis didn’t want to be wherever it was that he was, when he wanted nothing more to disappear from the face of the earth, and with him, the memory of everything he and Harry had _ruined_. Those kinds of silences had barely ever existed before the breakup.

Now, however, Louis was not only overcome by the silence, but also by a sense of general peace, by a certain warmth he hadn’t known outside of Harry’s arms, one that started from inside his heart and extended to the farthest parts of his body – to the top of his ears and the rough skin from under his toes.

This wasn’t a silence he knew very deeply, it wasn’t one he was very accustomed to. But it was one that made him feel good and well, and all the things he hadn’t felt much recently – although these feelings, feelings like the ones he felt right now and simply _couldn’t describe_ had been more and more frequent as of late.

Louis put his phone down on the edge of the table behind him, precariously balancing it on the edge of it. He figured that if it fell, he would be allowed an easy exit from the eminent conversation he could feel crawling closer between him and Harry; if it stayed balanced as it was, he would need to talk.

He counted to five, slowly, and with deep breaths between each number that echoed through his mind. It was like he was letting himself taste the syllables on the tip of his tongue, allowing his mouth to be filled by the honey-sweet taste of the escape the numbers promised him. He was nearly _giving_ the phone extra time to fall from the table.

After he got to three and the phone still hadn’t so much as teetered, he figured he ought to give it extra incentive. It wasn’t like it would be very inclined to fal if it knew that what awaited it at the bottom was a rugged stone floor, against which the odds were pretty favourable to the screen breaking.

Goddamn it, it seemed as though Louis had completely lost it. He was now pretty much taking into consideration a phone’s feelings.

Still, he shrugged.

Bonus points to the phone if it fell on its back.

Louis sighed when he reached four. The phone was as immobile as it had been the previous second, although it now almost seemed like it was mocking him.

“Five,” Louis exhaled the word along with a deep breath of air.

The phone was definitely mocking him.

“What was that?” Harry spoke up louder from the other side of the wall.

Louis coughed into the dry air around him. “Oh, umm, just surprised. Mum left me five voicemails.” She hadn’t.

“What do they say?”

“Don’t know yet,” Louis mumbled. “Probably just how pissed she is that I didn’t phone her at all while I was in LA. Would’ve most likely not hurt to at least let her know that I was going away for a while.” He whispered the last sentence, feeling almost ashamed of himself. His mum must’ve worried herself sick over him; he hadn’t even thought about how his leaving would’ve affected her.

He was such a shit son sometimes.

“Did you,” Louis said, but let the words trail off as he didn’t know what to follow them with. It would be a rather idiotic idea to ask Harry if he had texted him, as they both knew that Louis knew the answer to that. “Do you,” he started up instead, but that didn’t feel right either.

He bit his tongue between his front teeth, not hard enough to draw blood, but just so he would feel a light pinching.

“I meant it, you know,” Harry broke the silence with instead, when it became excruciatingly clear that Louis had no idea how to phrase what he meant to say. “You make such an effort to make sure that I never forget just how much you love me, and I’ve always just smiled happily. But truth be told, I _do_ know how much you love me, Lou. And trust me when I say that I definitely understand what you mean when you say that what I need to gain back is your trust, not your love.” Harry’s head poked out from around the wall that separated their two balconies, and the way his neck was so obviously stretched out made it clear that it must’ve been a pretty painful position to hold. “Not that I’m not gonna keep working for your love, because if there’s one thing I’m never going to stop doing, it’s gonna be trying to make you love me more and more each second.” Harry pulled back a bit, only leaving his eyes to peek out from around the darkness of the night. “But like, you know how I need to gain back your trust?”

Louis nodded.

“Well, I think that I also need to learn to fully trust you again.”

At that, Louis emitted a painful whimper, as if Harry had physically stricken him.

Harry hurried to make sure that he was being understood properly. “It’s different, yeah? Like, you need to be able to trust that I won’t go looking elsewhere – _not that I ever did_ , but just –” he sighed. It was obvious that nothing was coming out the way he meant it to. “You need to be able to trust that if I get worried about something – that I’ll actually talk it out with you instead of finding another way to get your attention. You need to be able to trust that no matter what happens, I’ll always be right by your side, and by your side only.”

Louis nodded once again, even though he was pretty sure that the only thing Harry could see of him were his hands, crossed over his body like he was trying to hug himself. Whereas a tiny ray of light was glinting off of his hands, the rest of his body was cast in complete darkness.

Harry nodded too, almost as if he were trying to push himself along. “But, where it’s different, is that what I need to know is that you won’t ever keep me in the dark about anything for that long.”

“I won’t.” Louis’s voice came out high pitched, nearly squeaky, but he didn’t let himself be ashamed of it for more than ten seconds.

“And logically, I know that. But it’s different, innit? Knowing it, and believing it. Like, I know that you won’t do that, that you won’t keep anything that big from me ever again – or anything small, really. But. God, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay,” Louis whispered, his voice coming out normal this time. “I think I get it. Like, I’d like to think that I know that you wouldn’t cheat on me ever again.” He held up a finger in Harry’s direction, the light from the large doors behind him catching on the tip of it. “But it’s kind of different, blindly giving you my entire heart, trusting that you won’t do anything bad to it, even though you already have.”

Harry smiled, or Louis thought he did. He couldn’t quite see too well, but he was pretty sure that there were smile lines on Harry’s face. As he thought that, Harry’s face completely retreated to his side of the wall, disappearing from Louis’s view. “I just felt like you might need reminding that I haven’t given up.”

Now, Louis could definitely feel himself smiling. He leaned against the wall separating him from Harry. He liked to imagine that Harry was doing the same on his side.

The concrete was surprisingly cool where it pressed up against his skin.

“You know,” he started, “I think this is the first time that we’ve actually behaved as friends.” Harry didn’t say anything, but Louis could hear his breathing coming lightly out to him. “I mean, we’ve been friendly for the past while, yeah? But – I don’t know about you – but for me, it was nearly demanding.” He rushed on to continue when he heard Harry holding his breath. “Not in a bad way, just like, I needed to actually think a lot about how I was acting and what I was saying and how I held myself. Right now, it just seems natural.”

“Well it’s not like I can really see what you’re wearing or how you’re holding yourself,” Harry joked. “You _could_ after all be naked on your side, for all I know.”

Louis threw his head back laughing, loud and honest. “Could say the same for you. You were always the one with a preference for… how did you put it?” Louis turned his body.

Harry mock gasped, the way he would when he was trying to seem affronted. “How do you not remember? It’s called a ‘preference for living _au natural_!’” He took on a deeper, posher accent for the last part of his sentence, making Louis burst out laughing again.

“Right, right.”

There was a cracking sound as Louis’s phone hit the ground above where it’d been balancing on the table. Louis’s head snapped in its direction, reminding him of exactly what they’d been doing out here.

He let himself slide against the wall, coming to sit on the ground. He ran his fingers in loose circles along the uneven surface beneath him, the nail of his left index finger catching on a crack that divided the concrete next to him. He stretched his right leg out, his toes gently coming to rest against the closest leg from the small table.

“Your mum called me. Gemma too, I think.” Harry hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m pretty sure I’ve even got a call from Robin, of all people.”

There was a pause, before he could hear the sound of Harry’s phone unlocking, followed quickly by Harry snorting out a short laughter. “He didn’t even phone me!” He sounded almost insulted. “I guess that makes it official then. My family love you more than they love me.” And yeah, that was definitely Harry’s insulted voice.

Louis didn’t say anything.

It took only a few seconds before Harry said something else.

“What did mum tell you?”

Louis shrugged against the wall. “I don’t know yet, only looked through your messages. Texts I mean.” He reached for his phone, thumbing over the dark screen, now broken up in half by a crack that must’ve appeared when it fell to the floor. “Do you want me to check?”

“I mean, if you want.”

Louis recognised that tone. It definitely meant yes.

            He unlocked his phone, thumb hovering once again over the screen. He opened the texting app, noticing rather quickly that Anne had only sent him one text message. He read it over once, and once more to give himself some time to try to understand what it meant.

He cleared his throat. “Umm – she only sent me one text, actually. It only says ‘ _It’s going to be okay_.’ I’m not quite sure what she meant by that.”

Neither one of them said anything for a few long seconds, until –

“When did she send that?”

Louis checked again. “Like, a day before you flew in to LA to join me.”

He could imagine Harry nodding his head, taking it in. “Did she phone you?”

“Yeah.”

Louis rang his voicemail up, entering his four-digit pin before the messages started rolling. He skipped the first several messages, figuring he’d listen to them all at another time. He stopped when he recognised Anne’s voice, slightly more robotic than it usually would be – she must’ve been calling from her landline.

“ _Hey Louis darling. I’m guessing you’re not getting your messages right now, wherever you might be. You’ve been gone a bit over a week now, tops a week and a half I’d say, and Harry’s just disappeared – I think it might’ve been three days ago? Anyways, that doesn’t really matter. I just wanted you to know that no one from our side of the family’s saying anything to your management or your team – or anyone really. Not that we really know anything anyway._ ” There was a brief pause – Louis imagined that Anne was collecting her thoughts. She came back, her voice slightly quieter this time. “ _I’m pretty sure that Harry’s with you right now, and I just want to make sure that you’re okay, both of you. Call me whenever you get this, and in the meanwhile, take care of yourselves please. We all love and miss you here_.” There was a brief moment of silence, before the dial tone came back on, with an automated voice giving him instructions regarding the messages.

Louis listened with half an ear, pressing the appropriate button when required to replay the message. He then put the phone down next to him, putting it on loudspeaker to let Harry hear.

They listened to the message together, not speaking for the duration of the recording.

When it finished playing, Louis skimmed through the remaining messages in his voicemail, coming to the conclusion that she hadn’t called again. He then put his phone down.

It didn’t take much time for Harry to speak up. “Should we call her back?”

Louis nodded, then realised that Harry couldn’t just feel his movement through the wall. “I reckon, yeah.” He tapped his fingers against the ground, something coming to mind. “D’you wanna check your messages before we do though?”

Harry hummed in the affirmative, probably opening his phone at the same time. “She texted six times – I’d say it’s all before she called you, but after I flew out to LA. All the messages are about how she’s worried about me, or about you, and to call soon. Let me check my voicemail.”

Louis did so, and in the few minutes Harry took to check through his messages, he started humming to a tune he couldn’t quite replace.

“Okay, so she called twice, and both messages are about the same length as she left for you. I’d say one is the same day that she called you, and the other is a week later. The first is basically what she told you, but with a bit more talk about how I should or shouldn’t treat you – I swear my mum is more concerned about your wellbeing than she is about mine – the other one is just her keeping me up to date with what was going on in London. I don’t think she knew that we were keeping in contact with the boys.”

Louis shrugged. “It’s still cute, she was just being motherly, H.”

“I wasn’t saying anything _bad_ , just what I thought. So should I call her now?”

Louis looked at his phone, a short laugh escaping him. “It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“Well, I mean, you know my mum, right? She’d probably hold it against us if we didn’t call her as soon as we got her message. _Even if_ it was out of being considerate.”

Louis nodded seriously. “Right. Okay, so call her, I guess.”

They waited as the phone rang, Louis counted five times, before Anne’s voice came on, slightly rugged from sleep.

“ _Harry? Is that you? D’you know what bloody time it is?_ ”

Louis could almost feel Harry’s smile. It had definitely been too long since they’d both heard her voice.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m with Lou. And yes, we are aware of the time.”

“ _Oh God, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve heard your voice? A month is a long time, you know. Please don’t ever do that again, love._ ” She seemed tired, but happy nevertheless.

“I’m sorry, mum. I didn’t mean the drag it out that long, but we just needed a break from it all.”

Louis could tell that she was about to say something else, but cut herself off. “ _You’re with Louis, you said?_ ” she asked instead of whatever she was going to say.

Louis laughed, loud enough that he knew the speaker would catch it. “Yeah, we kind of are,” he said. He wasn’t sure if they really counted as being at the same place if they weren’t exactly in the same room.

There was a pause. “ _Where are you?_ ”

“We’re in London. We landed a couple of hours ago, but only heard your messages right now. That’s actually why we’re calling you,” Louis answered.

“ _Well thank you for calling me then. I definitely have a few things that I need to ask you, but I think it’s best if we do that when I’m not half asleep, what do you think?_ ”

Harry took this question. “Seems like a good plan, mum. We’ll try to visit soon, but no promises, okay?”

“ _Yes, thank you. I love you boys very dearly, and now please go to sleep soon, okay?_ ”

They both answered brightly, promising that they’d sleep soon. They hung up, and Louis let out a drawn-out sigh.

“So, should we call my mum now?” Louis asked, his voice airy, the late hour starting to dawn on him.

“Yeah, let’s just check what the messages she left us were first.”

Louis nodded, agreeing that that would be the best idea. He picked his phone up, thumbing through his text messages until he found the conversation he had open for his mum. There were several unread messages, half of which she must’ve sent before Harry had left for America. There was one that stood out particularly to him, and his eyes trailed on it for a bit too long, but no one would have to know.

_Mum (26/05/14 – 6:08pm): Take care of your boy for me love xx._

His head turned sideways briefly, as though he were trying to catch a glimpse of Harry through the thickness of the wall.

 _Your boy, your boy, your boy_.

He smiled, storing it in a compartment of his mind that he would need to ask his mum exactly what she had been insinuating at the time, but obviously it would be for a later day. He wouldn’t be asking her this over the phone when Harry would be one of the active participants in the conversation. That was just spelling disaster to him.

There were three more messages after that one, all more general than the last one, and all sending love and “wishes for the best.”

He skimmed through his voicemails, coming to the conclusion that she hadn’t left a message – she must’ve known that if he hadn’t answered her texts, odds were he wouldn’t answer a voicemail either. Smart woman his mum was.

“D’you have anything particularly noteworthy?” he asked Harry a minute later.

There was a short delay in his answer, which could either mean that Harry was still going through messages, or that he was trying to figure out what he could say. Louis’s money was on Harry having also received a message along the lines of “take care of Louis” with various pet names tacked to the end. “No,” Harry answered, and yep it was the second case then.

Louis decided to let it slide, settling on an equally as omitting “me neither, to be quite honest.” He tried to let a smile show through in his voice, but his words probably sounded slightly strained. He hoped Harry would be able to tell that it wasn’t because of him, that it was just nerves. He hadn’t spoken to his mum in over a month. He couldn’t quite imagine how this would go.

How had Harry felt when they’d called Anne?

Louis didn’t get to think on this for too long.

“D’you want me to call her, or would you rather call her from your phone?”

“I’ll call her. If it’s from your phone, she’ll probably overthink it and think something bad has happened.”

Louis put his phone down on the balcony next to him, clicking through on the screen until they could hear the dial tone ringing in the night air. Louis concentrated on his breathing, a part of him actually hoping that his mother wouldn’t pick up, but of course just as he was thinking this, the line went through and he could hear his mum’s voice clearly on the phone.

“ _Louis?_ ”

Louis couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. The seconds dragged by, and his mum asked again if he was there, but he couldn’t get his lips to move and there was no air in his lungs and this wasn’t going how he’d planned it, why was he so scared of his mum all of a sudden, _he needed to breathe, he needed space, he needed time, he wasn’t ready for all of this to start again_. How was he expected to face the entire world when he couldn't even speak to his own mum over the phone?  _No no no no no he wasn't ready, he couldn't do this_.

“Hey Jay, this is Harry. I’m with Louis and we’re, umm, we’re back in London now.”

Louis needed to speak, he needed to say something, but he couldn’t. His hand was shaking on his right, reaching out for Harry’s hand but he couldn’t touch, he could never touch, _always too far away_.

“ _Is he okay? Did something happen? Where is he?_ ” Louis could hear his mum’s panic in the way that her voice cracked on the word ‘okay,’ he could feel it in the way she rushed her words, making them come jumbled together. He still couldn’t speak.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine, like I said, I’m with him right now. Nothing happened, I think he might just be tired. Definitely nothing to worry about.” Louis could feel that Harry’s wasn’t quite sure he was telling the truth, but he was thankful that he knew worrying Jay would do no good.

“ _Lou? Baby?_ ”

Louis pinched the thin skin on the inside of his wrist between his fingers, and suddenly he could speak. “Yeah, I’m here mum. Tired,” he said breathlessly. His voice was shaky and rough, and he felt all too out of breath, but he needed to do this for his mum. He took a deep breath in, and let it all out slowly.

“ _Then go to bed, love. The two of you. I’m glad you called me, and I will want to talk to you when you’re more awake, but for now I’ll let you go._ ”

“Yes, of course Jay, we’ll call you soon again to actually bring you up to date on what happened this past month, but we figured it was best to just get this call in quickly.” And honestly thank God that Louis had Harry with him.

“ _I send you a load of hugs and kisses, darlings, and talk to you soon_.”

Harry sent their love to her, and Louis wasn’t quite sure if he’d mumbled something or not, but he was pressing on the red ‘end call’ button and getting up, phone in hand. He walked inside of his hotel room, through the main room and opened the door to the hallway behind it. He stood at Harry’s door for half a second before his fist was coming down heavily against it.

Two knocks. That was all it took for Harry to open the door, a frantic look in his eyes.

Louis didn’t explain anything, just wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, bringing him closer and closer to him until there was no space between them. He fisted the material of the thin white t-shirt Harry had on between his fingers, his breath hitting against the side of Harry’s neck. When Harry’s arms finally wrapped around his back, only then could Louis breathe again.

It felt like coming home. It felt like finally being familiar with the environment around him because really, for the past several months, he’d only been in the dark, somewhere he couldn’t quite find himself at ease anymore. It felt like finally he was back in his skin because Harry had always been an extension of him, and being mad at him or frustrated by him had taken so much from Louis that he wasn’t able to completely let himself be his friend until now. So he held on tighter.

“I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t speak and it was like there was a knot in my throat. I’m not ready for any of this H, I can’t do this. Especially not without you.”

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Harry whispered, pulling Louis against him as he closed the door behind them.

Louis nuzzled against Harry’s neck. “Never gonna let you go.”

Harry smiled into Louis’s hair, planting a delicate kiss against his scalp. “Don’t want you to.”

That night, Louis went to sleep in a bed that was most definitely not his, in a room that was most definitely Harry’s.

When he woke up, it was to find rough sheets under his skin, and Harry curled up on the sofa next to the bed. Louis’s heart might’ve warmed ever so slightly by the image – Harry was really giving Louis the space he needed, but he would most definitely be there for him along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I apologise for this not being up sooner, college is quite frankly exhausting. I had this finished completely last night, but when I went to post it my laptop locked and I couldn't access anything anymore. We've spent most of the morning trying to recover my account. (It still won't open, I might or might not've lost all my school documents which is going to be a blast to explain to the Professors, but I have recovered a fair few. We'll see how this all unrolls.)
> 
> Anyways, as always, lots of love to all of you, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S.: also, I'll just briefly explain that at the end, Louis panicks because he doesn't know how he's supposed to face the world when he can't even face his mum over the phone. He knows that Harry can help him through it so he goes to see him, and ends up going to sleep in his bed. Harry nonetheless respects Louis's need for space, so he takes up the couch instead of sleeping in his bed with Louis.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: belownight


End file.
